New Year's Eve Affair
by m klindt
Summary: It's UNCLE's turn to guard the mayor and his guests during the ball drop on New Year's Eve, but a car accident and a missing agent cause a stir at Headquarters. Part of my "Lexi" series.  Done in two partss
1. Chapter 1

New Year's Eve Countdown

By

M. Klindt

I don't own MFU characters, but like to use them to play with the ones I've created. Part of my "Lexi" series to read. One of the last stories to read in this MFU timeframe before the MFU TV movie. Thank you for reading my twitterings.

Chapter One

"No, I'm not hungry and I want to finish this," Lexi growled at Dr. George Thompson, her lab partner in UNCLE Headquarters New York with annoyance, trying to settle back into what she was doing.

Dr. Monica Alexis Lane had just returned from a currier assignment for Mr. Waverly two days ago and was trying to make up for the lost time in their shared lab before they were leaving for an overnight conference in Washington D.C.

Lexi was lucky that she had escaped with the information from the now dead informant with only a few scrapes and bruises. She was tired of George and the others complaining that she didn't eat enough. It was what had saved her because, her only means of escape was to slide through a narrow gap between a building and a parked delivery van.

All she wanted to do now after George forced her to eat a whole bagel for breakfast and with extra jam at that, was to mix her chemical compound base, finish her reports, and go home to pack. Being an UNCLE Section Two operative and working in the lab kept her very busy.

"Hell," Lexi thought to herself, she just realized that she still owed the Gym Nazis two more miles today.

"Please, come out to lunch with me." George pleaded. He knew that if he kept pestering her, she would finally give up and go with him. "No one would even miss us."

"George, no," Lexi sternly said and gave him a cutting look with her bright, sapphire, blue eyes over her granny glasses.

"Cassidy and the girls are out shopping at Macy's today." George added to sweeten the pot. "Getting last minute Christmas presents. One of them could be yours."

"I don't celebrate Christmas." Lexi snorted, but her eyes twinkled in merriment and she turned off her Bunsen burner.

"We'll sample the chocolates and eat at Macy's cafeteria..."

"As long as it isn't a milkshake and the darker the chocolate, the better," Lexi sighed as she stood up, closed her notes, and grabbed the coat that George was already offering her. "And, I get to hold the girls all I want."

"Deal, but after we all go see Santa Claus." George smirked at her surprised expression. "I wonder if you've been naughty or nice."

"George," Lexi punched him smartly on the shoulder with her gloves in her hand. "I'm nasty not naughty and a heathen. Remember."

"Nasty, I got that." George said, rubbing his arm where she hit him. "I'm surprised you could hit me all the way up here."

"George!" Lexi stopped dead in her tracks in shock of being teased, because she was a good foot shorter than her tall, muscular, brown-haired lab partner as he trotted ahead of her, chuckling.

Realizing he was asking for another sound beating, she ran after him and grabbed him by his coat sleeve, shook it while playfully swearing at him, and then they continued out of UNCLE headquarters arm-in-arm out into the cold air.

MFU/MFU

"New York Headquarters, main switchboard, how may I direct your call?" a monotone, female voice of the UNCLE headquarters switchboard answered the line. "Afternoon, Ellen," Cassidy said cheerfully when she recognized the operator's voice. "Do you know if George and Miss Lane have come back from their conference yet? George told me last night that he'd call me. It's almost five and I haven't heard from him or Lexi."

"Not to worry." Cassidy could hear her smile over the phone. "Dr. Thompson called in and said that there was a snow storm in Washington D.C. and they were driving because the airport was shutting down. I thought that Helen had called you as he asked."

"No, she didn't," Cassidy said with concern. "Did he tell you when he thought they would be getting to New York?"

"If there wasn't any bad weather up here, about six-thirty tonight, he was worried that you'd be upset. I'm sorry we caused you any distress."

"Not a problem, Eve." Cassidy sighed in relief. "I just wanted to know that they were safe and on the way home. It's Christmas Eve, after all, tomorrow. I'm such a worry wart."

"You are not," Ellen said in a firm kindness. "You are a loving, caring wife and I will call you personally when he checks in."

"Thank you. Good afternoon."

"Talk to you soon, Cassidy."

MFU/MFU

"George, how are you?" Illya Kuryakin asked as he walked into George's lab with his partner, Napoleon Solo, in tow.

"Illya, Napoleon," George called out to the two men from the back of the lab. "Back just in time to enjoy Christmas Eve and Day?"

"Yes, well, for Napoleon." Illya began with a tight smile on his face. "I was hoping to talk with Lexi. We're to be on alert starting in a few hours."

"Still can't get Illya and Lexi to enjoy this commercially decadent holiday season like true Americans, eh, Napoleon?" George smirked with a raised eyebrow while he walked toward them.

"I see that you and Cassidy haven't been able to convince them either." Napoleon retorted with a chuckle and turned to his partner. "What is this, the second or third year that you two've stayed in headquarters to take on THRUSH if the need should arise?"

"Second," Illya shrugged casually, pointedly ignoring his partner as he picked up a beaker and swirled the fluid within while studying it. "We stay in one of the secured rooms and enjoy a quiet night and day."

"Yeah, right," Napoleon snorted as he and George eyed each other knowingly. "Peace and quiet…"

"What?" Illya looked up haughtily, crossed his arms across his chest, and acted as if what he and Lexi did was purely professional and above board. "We only have UNCLE's interest at heart."

"Sure, you do." Napoleon rolled his eyes nudging George with his elbow. "And, sharing a room with your atheist girlfriend and having your way with each other all night long is in the best interest of the Command?"

"We will not be doing anything that you and Caitlin or you and Cassidy will be doing this holiday season." Illya couldn't help goading both men as a sly smile crossed his lips in mock frustration.

"Hey, I can only wish for nights like that anymore." George pathetically heaved. "I have kids, remember? My home's become Santa Claus central. I have two bikes to put together tonight. Want to come over and help, Napoleon? All the spiked eggnog you could ever want."

"Not tempting enough for me I'm afraid. If I recall correctly, I had some of your eggnog last year and I still can't remember how I got home," Napoleon said with a grimace. "Besides, Illya and I have to go over security for the ball dropping on New Year's Eve before I can go to Caitlin's."

"What are you talking about?" George asked.

"It's UNCLE's turn this year to provide security around the button that releases the ball so that it doesn't get tampered with before it's time for it to do its job," Napoleon stated with indifference.

"UNCLE takes turns with the other government agencies in New York to provide security for the celebrity or political figures deemed popular enough to mark the New Year." Illya continued on for his friend. "I don't even know who is going to push the button this year. Do you know, Napoleon?"

"Haven't got a clue, but we'll find out very soon I imagine." Napoleon shoved his hands in the pockets of his tailored pants and started to look around the lab. "Speaking of pushing someone's buttons, where's your charming lab partner? I heard you two had a problem getting back to New York because of the snow in D.C.?"

"I haven't got a clue where she is," George said with a lack of concern that was not usual for him. "I dropped her off at her place last night and got a message that she had things to do both in and out of headquarters today. I thought that she might be back soon if she's to be staying here tonight. Lexi promised the girls and Cassidy that she'd be at our house tomorrow evening with you, Illya. At least, I hoped that she told you that. You're bringing the Chinese food. You and Caitlin are to bring the adult beverages, Napoleon."

"No, she didn't," Illya glared at the scientist, but smiled softly because he liked their group get-togethers very much. "I haven't had a chance to talk with her for over a week now. I guess that I'm going to have to wait for her to check in tonight or chase her all over New York to even know that she still exits."

"Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin please report to Mr. Waverly's office." A voice called out through a loudspeaker in the lab.

"Well, Illya," Napoleon smiled, tugged at his jacket sleeves, and then smoothed his already perfect hair. "You'll have to chase Lexi down later after our meeting with Waverly and have a quick check-in with Medical from our last mission. Are you ready to go tell Waverly why you cost him more money eating on our last assignment?"

"Me?" Illya said in a bored tone as he started to follow his partner out the door. "I'm not the one who complained about ruining an imported, hand dyed, silk tie that you used to slide down a cable from a tall building because you got locked out of the stairwell."

Just before shutting the door, Illya turned back to George with a cryptic look and a nod of his head "See you, George, Happy Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Illya."

Chapter Two

"Gentlemen," Mr. Waverly nodded for Solo and Kuryakin to take a seat at the round table in his office. "I'm glad to see that you two have succeeded in your mission and brought home useful information on THRUSH's newest chemical depot. I have Mr. Slate and Miss Dancer following up on a tip after the holiday here stateside.

"Now, before we close down for the next day and a half, I want to give you a list of international dignitaries that were invited to sit with the governor and senator during the ball drop." Waverly puffed on his pipe as he passed a list of names to each Section Two agent.

While waiting for each man to read the list of names, Waverly leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and stared off in thought. Suddenly, both Kuryakin and Solo popped their heads up with astonishment at the names they read.

"Sir," Illya was the first to respond. "Who has access to this list? Practically all those invited have had a significant impact on world affairs: UN representatives from allied countries; political politicians that hold key positions within the Senate and Congress; and their wives."

"Yes, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly nodded as he put his pipe down. "I believe that the mayor of New York is testing the waters to run for President of the United States in the next election, although, years away."

"If Thrush were to get their hands on this list, it would be a great feather in their cap if they took even one of these men down, especially if UNCLE is running security…"

"Or one of their wives," Waverly said in agreement. "That's why we need to start right away with looking at every possible angle of attack and each every piece of equipment surrounding that platform."

"Will they be on the main one?" Napoleon asked.

"No, but within thirty feet of it, stage right of the cameras and TV crews," Waverly said and pulled out the downtown map with its assigned sections traced out in different colors. "You, gentlemen, are to secure the area and assign lookout at all potential sniper positions. We'll have all security sections working on this starting the day after Christmas when we have the official list of who is actually attending. You'll take volunteers from other sections to help as well."

"Miss Lane and I will start on the list tonight and begin looking into basic security measures. We'll have an initial report ready by the twenty-sixth, barring minimal interruptions."

"Thank you, Mr. Kuryakin." Waverly nodded. "I look forward to your report then. Don't forget to check-in with medical. Dismissed and have a productive holiday."

"Yes, sir," both men said in unison while they made their way out of Waverly's office and into the hallway.

"Man, Illya," Napoleon lightly grumbled. "I thought that you wanted to enjoy the time with Lexi, not plan strategies in protecting world leaders. Where's the fun in that?"

"Fine," Illya said simply with a shrug of his shoulders, then started to turn around. "I will go back and tell Waverly that something came up and that you were more than happy to work on this security detail for us instead…"

"No," Napoleon caught his smug partner by his shoulders and turned him back around. "I'll leave you two to it. It's just not the most romantic thing to talk about with the person you'll have with you."

"We'll have plenty of time for both." Illya smiled deeply. "Give us a chance to catch our breath between times…"

"You sly Russian, just don't let her or you leave marks this time."

"Never," Illya solemnly promised as they made their way to Medical. "Of course, I'd have to catch her first."

MFU/MFU

Napoleon and Caitlin were lying quietly on the couch, watching the flames dance in the fireplace with the occasional popping and sparks flying in its warm glow. It was about eleven at night, warm, and quiet. They had made love, eaten, and were now about to drift off to a peaceful sleep under the throw wrapped in each other's arms.

_Bleep…bleep…bleep._

"Oh, Napoleon," Caitlin groaned softly as she let Napoleon detangle himself from her warm soft body. "Can't you, just for one night, ignore the call for justice?"

"Sorry love, all part of the job," he said, walking over to his jacket slung over a dining room chair as he pulled out his communicator pen and opening the channel. "Solo here, this had better be good, Illya."

"Napoleon, we have a problem…"

MFU/MFU

Napoleon Solo and Caitlin Delany rushed into UNCLE headquarters and found Illya in the communications office, talking with the regional operator. His tie had been yanked to the side in a past moment of frustration.

Looking at Illya, Napoleon saw the cool professional calmly seeking a missing agent on the outside, but he knew better. After working with Illya for several years, he knew that he was the master of hiding his personal feelings. Feelings that Illya had for him and Lexi, but his partner had to do his job even when one of them was hurt or missing.

"Any word?" Caitlin asked out of breath.

"No," Illya said stiffly in a small voice as he let Caitlin hug him, but didn't return it. "No one has physically seen her since she and George came back yesterday."

"Her apartment," Napoleon asked. It was better to concentrate on the facts than the emotions for their missing friend.

"Not been touched for at least twenty-four hours, maybe longer." Illya shook his head, leaned over a computer bank, and flipped a switch. "No signs of unpacking, her bed hasn't been used recently, no activity on her door locks, and there's two days of mail in her box."

"Meaning that she never reached inside her apartment's front door," Napoleon nodded. "Not very worried about leaving traces that she's been gone for awhile are they? Headquarter logins?"

"None since George and she checked out to go to lunch with Cassidy and the kids two days ago." Illya shook his head and turned to face his partner. His eyes were turning darker blue with fear and stress.

"Now, for the big questions," Napoleon swallowed, smoothing his hair down to help brace himself for Illya's reaction. "First, was she working on something that someone didn't want her to be working on?"

"No, Waverly said that he was saving her for New Years to help me with organizing security between Section Two and Three. Lexi had finished a currier pickup with a bit of a tight squeeze to get out as the informant did not survive, but the information remained intact. He's currently checking into that possibility."

"Well, I now know that Waverly knows and she wasn't being chased by someone so far, what about the conference? Did she run across something there? Have you talked with George about it?

"Yes, he was shocked that she was missing." Illya reported. "He was the one to check in when they left and got back. He said the conference was a run-of-the-mill inorganic chemical formula relationships forum that's held quarterly for government supported research projects. I contacted the registrar for the course and said that George and Lexi had checked in and the hotel confirmed that two rooms had been checked out and used."

"You know I have to ask," Napoleon said seriously, watching his partner very closely. "Do you think she just took off?"

"Napoleon," Caitlin exclaimed in shock and surprise that after several years of friendship with her that he would even think that she would just leave.

"No," Illya said through clinched teeth as his jaw muscles tightened, staring hard at his partner and his long-time girlfriend. "Don't worry, Caitlin, he wasn't the only one to ask me that and it had to be done. I'm surprised it took Waverly and Napoleon this long to question her loyalty to UNCLE. Unfortunately, I can't rule it out entirely either considering what training we've had and who might seek revenge on any one of us. Lexi could be protecting me or UNCLE by staying away as well."

"Silas and Marta?" Napoleon asked quietly and Illya only shrugged that he didn't know.

"Oh, Illya," Caitlin said in regret, grabbing his arm in support, but quickly withdrew her hand as she felt his muscles tighten and about to jerk away.

"Don't," Illya's voice was cold and sharp in warning.

Napoleon, sensing that Caitlin's touch on Illya's arm was maybe her last, he pulled her gently towards him, out of strike range, and into his arms to let her know to keep her distance right now from the Russian.

"Napoleon, I could use some help with our assignment for New Year's and making some phone calls to the usual places an injured agent might be found. Can you make those calls for me, Caitlin?"

"Sure thing," Caitlin said with a hopeful smile, carefully taking the list of numbers from Illya's extended hand and then sitting down in an empty chair at one of the stations on the communication's board. "If anyone knows how to talk on the phone, it's me. Napoleon, show me how to get an outside line."

Soft, strong hand squeezed Caitlin's shoulders and she looked up. "Thank you."

"Anytime, sweetheart," Caitlin smiled, but didn't try to attempt to return his touch. "Besides, I can't let Lexi down or we wouldn't have a fourth for bridge or shooting instructor at the gun range or someone to gossip with or to complain about you and Napoleon to…"

"How long will Waverly give you before he lists her as rogue or will let you go and look for her?" Napoleon asked quietly into Illya's ear.

"Not until after the New Year's Eve's ball dropping and the dignitaries are safe."

MFU/MFU

Mark Slate knew that he wasn't awake, but he wasn't asleep either. Images swirled around his brain like incomplete nightmares that he couldn't escape. He was lost on the way back at night from a remote ski lodge north of New York City in a heavy snow storm; three deer that jumped out in front of his car from out of nowhere, his car skidded out of control by the over-correction of his steering wheel while he spun in circles, the pain, the stars, and then utter blackness when he was lurched forward as the car jerked to a stop.

"Sir, can you hear me?"

A voice and light blinded him into increased awareness just long enough to taste the blood that rolled down his face and then he was out again.

MFU/MFU

"Mark, Mark Slate," Another voice called out through the haze and graying darkness. He was becoming aware of the smell of antiseptic and the cool, stiffness of the bed sheets that encased him. "Can you open your eyes for us?"

"What…"

That was all he could manage to make his tongue do, because it felt thick and unyielding in his dry mouth. Opening his eyes brought a grimace to his face. He instantly knew that he was hurt by the way his head pounded in tune with his heart beat when he tried to sit up. The room tilted sideways and took his last meal with it.

"It's all right, son." A strong male voice called out. "You're going to be nauseous for quite a while. You might as well empty your stomach now instead of later. Do you know who you are?"

"Mark Slate," he panted and let himself be pushed back down onto the hospital cart's thin mattress. A flash of light hit his eyes again and he pulled back with a grunt. "Where am I?"

"Where do you think you are, young man?" The man tugged at Mark's bandage on his forehead and then thoroughly checked him over again while waiting for a response.

"I'm in a hospital. Ow!" Mark called out as the doctor touched a tender spot on his right side which was very heavily bound in thick elastic bands.

"Very good and sorry, you've got a few cracked ribs, a concussion, and stitches on your forehead from a rather nasty laceration, but it should heal without too much scarring. Do you remember what happened to you last night?"

"Yes, I was lost in a snow storm, three deer decided to jump out in front of me, and I did a dingy, several I think, with my auto. The rest I don't remember except that I came to a rather sudden stop and hit the steering wheel with my head. At least, that's what my head feels like."

Mark was having trouble keeping his eyes open and focused, so he decided to leave them shut as he listened to what the emergency room doctor was telling him.

"An old lady found you unconscious in your car about 20 feet from her driveway, called an ambulance, and now you're here with us for the rest of this morning and then your sister can take you back to New York later tonight if you behave."

"My sister," Mark repeated in confusion.

"A…Miss. April Dancer," The doctor looked back down at the chart. "She said that she was family."

"Yes, she's family," Mark said quickly. "Where am I?"

"New City General Hospital, New City, New Jersey," A female voice answered his question. Mark opened his eyes long enough to see a very pretty blond nurse checking his IV. "His room will be ready in a few minutes."

"Thank you, nurse." The doctor nodded and turned back to Mark. "Now, young man, what you need is rest and painkillers. Concussions are not a thing to mess with."

"I know, I've had several of them before," Mark said with a sigh. The pounding was now growing in such intensity that it was hard for him to listen to the doctor over it. "I'll take that painkiller now."

"Smart man," the doctor said as he started to administer the analgesic and a mild sedative.

"Just two things, doc," Mark signaled by carefully raising two fingers. "One is my pride and joy totaled? And two, what's the date?"

"Beyond repair and December 26th, two o'clock in the morning. Now go back to sleep and get some rest."

"Whatever you say, mate."

MFU/MFU

"Mark!"

Hands roughly shook the man out of the pleasant dream he was having with that pretty nurse who had just taken care of him. He didn't know if he was still in the emergency room or in a private room, but he didn't care. All Mark wanted to do was sleep, but the pain of being shaken was enough for him to open his eyes a tiny bit.

"Mark!" another shake with a Russian curse attached it made him groan out in pain. "Chyort!"

Grogginess and confusion filled his head as he looked up to see a crazy lady in a hospital attire and ID bracelet rapidly talking to him in a foreign language while clutching his own gown and shoulders still trying to weakly shake him awake. The motion caused a sharp pain that raced up his side, which helped clear his mind a little more.

All Mark could think of was that he must be dreaming and when was the medication going to kick in when another jolt of pain woke him up again. He noticed that he was still in the ER, on the gurney, and there was a crazy person pushing him up and down.

"What do you want from me?" Mark said in short breaths between the painful stabs.

"Mark, you have to get to George," the crazy lady still pleaded. "You have to get to him before he kills. He's been brainwashed."

"George, who?" Mark asked in a stupor as the sedative and painkiller were coursing throughout his body. Even when he tried to concentrate, the crazy lady was losing focus and then became a black blur before she shook him again and this time harder.

"Look! There she is! Grab her!"

Mark fell into a dark void, feeling her cold hands on his relaxed face.

"George Thompson…brainwashed…"

Those were the last words he heard. Mark didn't see or feel the doctor and orderly pull her off him, or hold her down on the floor while she screamed and struggled, or inject her with a fast-acting sedative.

"Do you think he'll remember what happened?" Another doctor in a lab coat asked the attending staff doctor as they watched the orderlies pick up the escaping mental patient and take her back to her room.

"Doubtful," The ER doctor shook his head. "I had just given him a powerful sedative and analgesic. He'd be lucky if he could even remember his name, let alone, who he masturbated to last. Besides, all she did was to jabber at him incoherently. Mr. Slate would just think of it as just another crazy dream from the medication.

"Good," the older doctor nodded and followed the path the orderlies and the wayward patient took back to the Psych ward. "Keep me informed if he says anything when he wakes up."

"Will do, Seth."

Chapter Three

"Ah, Dr. Stellan," Dr. Seth Bower stammered as he extended his hand to THRUSH Central's top supervising medical examiner. "It's nice of you to come and visit. Sorry the weather has made traveling difficult for you."

"Enough, Bower, this isn't a social call. Where is she?" The wiry, tall, grey-haired man asked sternly, walking past him without shaking his extended hand. "I want to know why she is so resistant to our conditioning. She should be back at UNCLE headquarters with Thompson in his lab. We can't use her anymore. Her absence would surely be noticed by now to be of any use."

"Yes, she's proven very uncooperative," Bower scowled as he led the THRUSH doctor to the private section of the hospital's psychiatric ward and into a small, narrow observation room. There was a two-way mirror that ran the length of several secured rooms back walls. An attendant's chair sat vacant in the room.

Stellan looked in each of the three rooms as he passed by and didn't see a single patient in any of them. "Well, Bower, where is she?"

Startled by seeing the empty bed and room where he had the orderlies place Thompson's lab assistant, he quickly left the room. Shouts for help could be heard and in an instant, the door opposite to the mirror opened into her room. It let in a brighter light into the pale, white, barren room.

Stellan watched with interest at the frustrated and angry look Bower gave the orderly as they both searched the seemingly empty room until they came upon a hidden figure underneath the mirror. The poorly trained orderly advanced with a relaxed grin on his face.

In a flash, he was pulled forward, out of Stellan's line of sight, and all he could hear were a few grunts and a barely audible snapping of a bone. If he was right, it was the orderly's neck.

Stellan only rolled his eyes in disgust while he silently watched Dr. Bower slowly back up, edging out of the room as he called for more help. The woman stood up in front of the mirror, swayed a little, and began to advance slowly toward the door.

Stellan watched in awe of her determination. It reminded him of a test subject from the past. That young, teenage girl and her male cousin were quite the scrappers in any of the test he and his superiors put them through during summer camp. He'd had grown quite fond of her in the next few years before things had soured between them and he had sent her away.

Lifting his hands to cup them around his eyes to get a better view through the glass, Stellan looked this woman up and down. "Yes, right age, size, and from the way she killed the orderly, the training," he said to himself. "Then it was true. Alexana was truly alive then and working with Kuryakin."

Quickly thinking, Stellan left the observation room and followed the noise of the commotion going on in the hallway. The lab assistant had somehow gotten a hold of a weapon and used it to threaten Bower with it. She had him between her and his men as she made her way toward an exit door behind her.

Sensing that there was someone behind her, blocking the escape route, the lady flattened herself against the wall so she could face all of her attackers. Stellan darkly smiled and started to clap his hands loud enough for the noise of Brower's inane yelling to stop. All eyes turned to him, including the crazy lady's.

"Although," Stellan said confidently in a strong, booming voice for everyone to hear. "All of this is very fascinating, it has to end, doesn't it, Kuryakin?"

"Kuryakin? Where?" Bower asked nervously and looked around despite being held around the neck by Thompson's crazy lab groupie. "How did he know we were here?"

"Not he, her," Stellan said simply. He drew his gun out and walked up to point it right at Lexi's forehead. "Isn't that right, Alexana Sonja Kuryakin? You know, I never did know why you weren't named in the traditional Russian way… "

"Alexana is dead, as I thought you were too after the experimental project was finally shut down. Father said you had died when I got assigned to be in New York." Lexi didn't flinch, but smiled, let go of her hostage. She didn't even struggle when Bower and his goons grabbed her and held her tight against the wall.

"What are you talking about, Stellan?" Bower asked as he started to pull out a syringe with a tranquilizer in it. "This is Monica Lane, George Thompson's lab assistant, at UNCLE, that's who Thompson and she said she was."

"And you believed them?" Stellan shook his head. "When will you ever learn to read the bulletins sent out by THRUSH? Dr. Monica Lane is a chemist in her own right, specializing in hypnotics, a Section Two agent, and Kuryakin's American girlfriend, but I know she really grew up in Kiev. So, she's had the same training he's had."

"I had no idea who she was." He turned with a shocked expression to Lexi, who didn't take her eyes off of Stellan. "You weren't supposed to be there and I couldn't take Thompson without you. You made sure of that."

"George is my partner," Lexi said evenly. Stellan could tell she still had felt effects from the last sedative she'd been given in her because of her dilated eyes, but not enough to affect her actions and thoughts.

"And I will get you to listen to me as he does now." Bower said in a threatening tone as he popped off the cap of the syringe and grabbed her wrist. "A few more treatments and you'll be singing my praises."

"Stop," Stellan said firmly as he put his hand on Bower's shoulder. "Giving her that is like getting her drunk. It works for a while, but doesn't stick. She's got too much training and tolerance for the usual drugs to work."

"What do you suggest?" Bower asked his THRUSH superior, lowering the syringe. He flustered when Lexi gave him a quick, small smirk and her eyes laughed at him. "How are we going to get her ready to help Thompson to kill the mayor of New York in time?"

"Oh, she's not going to help us with that," Stellan said brightly while he continued to lightly press the barrel of his gun into her forehead. "No, I want to put an end to both Illya Kuryakin and Alexana Kuryakin; if it takes bringing down UNCLE to do it, I will."

"How's the shoulder, Gregor?" Lexi asked smugly.

In a blur of movement, Stellan lowered his gun with one hand and throttled Lexi by the neck with the strong, long fingers of the other, lifting her slightly off the floor, and grinding her shoulders into the painted bricks of the wall. She had to hold onto his arm for support as she tried to get her feet underneath enough for her to breathe.

"I will have my revenge for that too," he said hotly into Lexi's ear, bringing his lips close to her head, without relieving any of the pressure on her constricted neck. "He took you away from me and the project before you were fully trained, just to be with him after I killed that friend of his. You were promised to me as a protégé. I taught you everything and you left to chase after him all the way to Paris."

"I was chosen for him," Lexi squeaked out as she struggled to take a short breath in. "You were too old and jealous for me to take seriously as a teacher and passable lover. You're the one who sent me to that brothel. Father and Petrey had to get me out of the country and back to Illya to save my life, remember?"

"I did that to toughen you up," Stellan said angrily, pulling his head back to look her in the eye. "Look at what you've become because of it. You're strong, unemotional, and unsympathetic to causing death in others; a perfect assassin. Both in genetics and training, exactly what your precious father wanted for the Soviet Motherland."

"You've done your job too well," Lexi rasped out as her strength began to weaken from the lack of oxygen. "I won't let you use me to get to Illya or Napoleon. I would die first. He'll always choose UNCLE before me."

"You won't have a choice in the matter." Stellan glared at her. "I have no intention of killing you or him, but watch the both of you suffer in what I'm going to do to you. I spent too much time in a gulag to just let it all go now."

Stellan pocketed his gun and started to roughly grope Lexi's body through the hospital gown wrapped loosely around her body. He stopped over her hips and breasts before he let out a soft, menacing chuckle.

"No little bastards I see…yet," he sneered at her and then nodded to Brower. "You can give her that sedative now. I need blood samples and time to set up properly before we get started. Handcuff her to the wall with only a mattress on the floor and have a guard on her at all times. I don't want her trying to escape again."

"Yes, sir," Bower nodded as he reached for Lexi's arm again when Stellan slightly lowered her down the wall, but wouldn't let go of her neck until the hypo was completely injected.

Chapter Four

"Hey, April," Napoleon smiled warmly as he lifted his head to the door of his office and opened up to let in the other female Section Two agent and friend. "How did the meeting go? Are you ready for tonight?"

"The meeting went like clockwork. I think that it's great that George wants to help tonight. He's been so upset lately," April shrugged her shoulder, walking up to his desk and starting to pick at the paperclips on the magnetic strip. "Illya was very thorough with everyone involved tonight. Where is he now?"

"Connected at the hip to the mayor's assistant, a Mr. Grant Hamilton the third," Napoleon said, watching her putter around his office, touching the fake plant on his file cabinet and then wiping the dust off her fingers. She moved down the wall and acted as if she took interest in the memos that Illya had personally taped to the wall to remind him that "official UNCLE policies" did exist.

"Have you heard anything about Lexi yet?" April asked casually as she made her way around the corner to the next wall where she straightened the seams of his overcoat that hung on the rack.

"No," Napoleon said slowly, rotating in his chair while tracking her meanderings.

"How's Illya taking it her disappearance?" April continued in her distracting, information-seeking tone, pushing herself behind him and his desk.

"As good as can be expected," he said softly, turning his chair all the way in the other direction to keep her in his line of sight. "I don't know where he goes when his surveillance shift ends and I can tell that he's not sleeping very well. How is Mark feeling? Is Medical going to let him help us tonight with that conk on the head and cracked ribs?"

"Dr. Allen's allowing limited duties. He's going to sit in one of the sniper's nests to observe and report."

"April." Napoleon finally had had enough. She only acted this way when she wanted to spread some office gossip or couldn't back up her gut feelings with evidence.

"Humm," April asked in a light tone, completing her circle around the room, and started the process all over again by picking up one paperclip off the desk and bending it.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked in mild frustration. "Sit down and spill or are you here to see how dusty my office is?"

"Well," April sat down quickly on the chair opposite of him and got down to business. "I don't know if this is anything, but I think that strange things have been happening around here."

"Strange in what way, other than we have an agent missing and that your partner was in a car accident?" Napoleon sarcastically remarked. "What else could be strange?"

"I was just with Caitlin and Cassidy, try saying that ten times fast, for our weekly get together and Cassidy was concerned about George not getting home at his usual time and he's been muttering more in his sleep," April emphasized her comment by tapping her index finger firmly on his tabletop.

"George has been upset about Lexi since she's gone missing," Napoleon shrugged. "He's always been protective of her and this time especially, because he feels partly to blame for not knowing what happened to her."

"Fine, I can understand that, but what about Mark?" she said in an accusatory flick of her finger at him.

"What about Mark?" Napoleon asked, trying to follow her train of thought and not succeeding very well.

"When I brought him home from that hospital to be checked out by Medical, he was telling our favorite doctor, Dr. Paul Sheppard, that he had the weirdest dream from the sedative and painkillers they had given him."

"Okay, beautiful," Napoleon leaned forward. He was hoping that if he sounded interested in Mark's dream, that she would leave him in peace quicker. "What kind of dream did he have?"

"He said he could have sworn that another patient dressed in a gown, a female patient…"

"April, it's always a female with Mark." Napoleon snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Now, let me finish," April said curtly to his interruption. "He said that she was shaking him and was babbling to him about some washing. Most of it what she was saying to him wasn't understandable, but she was very insistent."

"And then?" Napoleon waited. It was an odd dream, but not too unusual given the drugs he was on.

"And then, nothing," April finished. "He said he fell back asleep and didn't wake up until I arrived that evening after work when they said I could take him back to headquarters. They let him go only if I promised to have someone with him for the next week. Mark slept all the way back to New York and only told Dr. Paul and me about his dream."

"All of this is very interesting, April, but nothing that is very useful," Napoleon stated in regret. "Mr. Waverly was very adamant about us staying on task for tonight. He wouldn't be too happy if we were chasing female patients in a hospital who were looking for someone to give them a bath or clean their clothes."

"I didn't say it was useful," she grumbled at him as she stood up to leave. "I just said it was weird, that's all. I just know that this is the first time that Mark has said anything about having a funny dream after a concussion in all the time I've been his partner."

"Wait," Napoleon sighed as he stopped her from leaving his office in a huff. "Only for you and your woman's intuition Ms. April Dancer, would it make it easier for you if I talked to Mark about his dream?"

"Yes, it would," April said with a nod and a brightening smile. "Secretly, I know that it's been bothering him and although, he doesn't say it. I think he's had that same dream haunt him every night since the accident."

"I'll go talk to him in a little while," Napoleon nodded his head. "Is he in his office?"

"Last time I saw him was on the way to medical to have the handsome, dark, Dr. Paul pull out the stitches in that thick head of his."

"Got it, beautiful, and thanks for telling me."

MFU/MFU

On the exam table in Medical, Mark crossed his arms across his chest in frustration while he waited for Dr. Sheppard to get prepared to pull out the stitches in his forehead from the car accident. He still had a slight headache from the blow to his head, but it was manageable with a couple of aspirins now and then. What bothered him more were his cracked ribs when he needed to move, bend, or taking a big breath in. Mostly, they would really hurt when he was sleeping and having that dream. Impatiently, Mark ran his hand through his curly, short, blond hair.

Every night since his accident, the dreams would be the same. He could feel her shaking him awake. The words she spoke were a blur as her image was to him. Mark could hear the words, but not make them out fully to understand their meaning.

"Mark, are you ready?" Dr. Paul asked as he brought the tray of instruments with him to remove the stitches, pulling up to Mark on a rolling chair. "You seemed miles away, are you feeling all right?"

"I donna know," Mark said in a rasp of mild distress. "I canna get her voice out of my head and it's making my head hurt. I hear her talk, but can't make it out. It's driving me nuts."

"Maybe you should talk to Dr. Samuel about it and try some hypnosis," Paul suggested, placing a towel on Mark's shoulder and started to reach for the pickup and scissors to cut the suture. "It might give you some insight into what's going on."

"Why wait?" Samuel said as he walked into the room, catching both men off guard. "I was in the neighborhood, looking for you, Mr. Slate to check how things were going with your health after that rather nasty concussion of yours before I left for lunch."

Most agents, including Mark, didn't usually seek out psychiatric help on their own, but with the lack of sleep and pain he was getting from the dream he was reliving every night, he was willing to try anything, even if it meant talking to Dr. Benjamin Samuel about the voice he was hearing.

"Tell me about this dream while Dr. Shepard pulls out those stitches."

Mark sighed in resignation and began his narrative on what had happened after waking up in the emergency room, getting the painkillers, and the dream. The more he talked about it, the clearer it became.

"Those words," Samuel asked after patiently listening, "Can you say them? What did they sound like?"

Mark thought about it, Samuel and Sheppard looking at him with interest. He then started to repeat the words as he remembered them. His first attempt at them came out a jumbled mess except for the word "washing".

"Ben, is it me or did I hear the name George in there, not once, but twice?" Paul asked, deep in thought.

"Possible," Samuel nodded with silent concentration and he closed his eyes. "Mark, repeat those words again, but more slowly."

The second run through went easier for Mark, but it still left him with a pounding headache and aching chest as his body seemed to remember the dream the most. Maybe if he could figure out what the lady in the hospital gown was telling him, he would feel better.

"I think that some of those words aren't in English. What about you?" Samuel asked. "They sound like someone is cursing. It sounds so familiar, but I can't put my finger on it."

Mark blinked as his mind finally wrapped around what the woman was saying to him. Why couldn't he have understood it sooner to be of more help to everyone?

"That's because you've more than likely heard it from Illya or…Lexi! It's Russian! She's the person in my dreams and she's shouting at me to wake up. George has been brainwashed! I'm to help stop him."

"You must have stumbled upon a satrapy inside the hospital they took you to after your car accident," Paul whistled out loud. "Sheer dumb luck on your part, Mark."

"I don't feel very lucky, but I agree with the 'dumb' part." Mark shook his head as he stood up; the headache was still traveling with him. "We have to go tell Napoleon."

"No you don't," Napoleon said, leaning in the doorway with his hands stuck in his pockets. "I heard everything. Your lovely and smart partner told me about your dream. She said it was important and weird at the same time. I do believe I owe her a dinner out on the town. What was the name of that hospital, Mark?"

"New City General Hospital, New city, New Jersey," Dr. Sheppard blurted out. "I received Mark's notes from his ER visit just today."

"What are we going to do about George?" Mark asked quickly.

"Well, first, we're going to get that partner of yours and go to Mr. Waverly's office. I think that we can accomplish a search and rescue mission before we are needed to help with our security detail tonight, if I can get the boss to let us borrow the helicopter."

"Right, I'll go get April," Mark nodded and rushed out the door.

"Paul and Benjamin," Napoleon drew his attention to the two doctors sitting by the vacant exam table. "Be ready; hopefully, we may find our wayward friend just in time to help us ring in the New Year."

"We'll be ready," Paul said with firm determination as he patted Ben soundly on the back.

"Don't say anything about George being brainwashed just yet, it might work to our advantage for later tonight," Napoleon said as he half turned out of the door to leave. "We've got to find out who's behind all of this and stop them."

"You have our word," Samuel said to the CEA's fleeting image.

Chapter Five

Illya stood in the Mayor of New York's office, exhausted, angry, and full of unrest. He didn't want to be here, but was ordered to by Waverly. Duty to the Command created by his parents' genetic coding and his country had made a wall in his heart and mind so high and wide that it had taken years to even make a crack in it.

Lexi had been gone for seven days now and he couldn't go find her. Every time he was off duty, he would scour places in New York where he knew that she would hide from the world, but they remained untouched. Most nights he would sleep in her bed just to try to smell her scent on the pillow. She'd come so far already and now they saw each other almost daily, it was harder to endure these uncertain absences.

"Weak and pathetic," echoed loudly in Illya's mind, to allow personal emotions to interfere with his work.

Shaking his head to these intrusive thoughts, he counted down the hours to when this affair would officially be done. Illya had done his usual meticulous job in organizing security for all the key members of the mayor's guest list, talking with the mayor's personal assistants on schedules and appearances, and worked closely with several governmental departments of the city to gain access to strategic advantage points to view the New Year's festivities. Everything was ready from his stand point.

"Mr. Kuryakin," the adjunct to the mayor, Grant Hamilton said as he caught Illya's elbow. "There's a phone call for you. You can take it at my desk."

"Thank you, Mr. Hamilton," Illya said formally as he walked from the mayor's office to a smaller one across the wide, cream-colored marbled hall.

He picked up the phone on the desk and punched the flashing button. "Kuryakin, here,"

"Illya," Napoleon's voice rang through the line. "How go things with the natives?"

Shocked that it was Napoleon on the line and then confused as to why he would use the phone instead of the communicator, he started to look around the office for someone who might be listening to their conversations and followed his friend's obnoxious form of bantering.

"Things, as you're so elegantly referring to Mr. Solo are fine." Illya played with thoughts of how irritated he should sound and made light of it. "The natives have been most helpful and accommodating. So, much, I think that I might apply for a job…"

"Good," Napoleon remarked, clearing his throat. Illya knew that was his partner's signal that he was becoming serious. "I've received your currier's notes and map. I'm sending Dancer back with some thoughts and suggestions in where a few of the snipers should be repositioned. Medical said that Mark Slate could join us tonight in our endeavors."

"Fine," Illya sighed in frustration in having to adjust his plans yet again. "You know where to find me."

"Great. I'll see you in person and in your tux tonight."

Illya put the phone down slowly, leaving his fingers linger on the handle, lost in thought. He was full of questions, but had no answers that he could put together with them. Looking around the room, Illya noticed that this office was a perfect fit to the man he'd been working with for the past few days, Grant Hamilton the Third.

Hamilton was undoubtedly bred and educated to fit his job to a tee in New York City Government. He was someone who looked good for the cameras and had a winning smile that could draw the ignorant voter in, all the while lying through his teeth and getting his pockets well-padded by special interest groups.

With a smirk and a high level of respect for this man, Illya took a moment to look around his office. The room was neat and tidy but, a little bare of the man's personal affects who owned it in sight except for pictures of his devoted wife, the mayor with handwritten words on the picture, and the President of the United States. What really stood out was his name plaque; no one would ever have to guess that this was his desk and office by the size of the gold lettering.

Grant Hamilton the Third was a solidly built man with dyed chocolate brown hair and gray-blue eyes. His business suits were tailored to hide his slightly spreading middle from years of reduced activity since his college football days.

His networking skills were his forte in winning the second highest office to the mayor of New York without having to be elected. Hamilton could read his opponents well enough to know when to push for his plan of attack, lie low, or give into a small concession to get a bigger piece of the pie.

Continuing his scan of Hamilton's office, Illya thought to himself that this man and room could easily be in the higher government levels of the Soviet Union. He knew several young, ambitious men who traded their hearts and souls to become part of the political machine.

This train of thought brought Illya back to when he was ordered into the Russian Navy by his uncle when he was in his middle teens. A young man of twenty named Petrey Korran and he were bunk mates. While Illya was rotating through all the stations on a sub, Petri was the eyes and ears for the officials. They slept in billets next to each other, ate at the same time, exercised at the same time, and became fast friends.

This lasting friendship helped Illya even after he returned to his Uncle Boris' service to help grease the "wheels of government" and get him to continue his studies abroad. He'd even promised to help watch over Lexi while he was gone.

Like most men that had met his _"Cousin Alexana"_, Petrey was instantly interested in her, and had asked Illya for permission to date her. At the time they were _"cousins"_ only and he didn't realized what she'd meant to the oblivious, sexually, awkward boy of fifteen. Lexi was more of a sister to him than a lover at that time.

A pang of guilt hit Illya hard as the last thoughts of his long-dead friend was the heart-felt thanks he wished he could have given him for finding Lexi after she was taken away and left in a brothel by her then supervisor, Gregor Vollef. One of his Uncle Boris' associates from the training they had endured during the experiment, the one that had left them, the last two survivors, in a somewhat and questionable intact emotional state.

Petrey alerted General Kuryakin about the abrupt disappearance of his adopted daughter, Lexi, and his knowledge that Vollef was seeking revenge after she refused the ruthless man's advances. When Petrey confronted Vollef about Lexi's whereabouts, the report said that threatening words were exchanged and his friend was killed when those words turned to into a nasty fight.

Petrey was no match physically for the war-hardened Vollef, but he got his revenge by getting Vollef demoted and stuck in a gulag for several years by his superiors. A couple of years after his release, it was reported that Vollef had died.

"Mr. Kuryakin," the voice of Grant Hamilton said at the doorway, shooting through his train of thought. "Is there something wrong?"

"No," Illya said quickly as he lifted his fingers off the phone handle he had forgotten that he was still touching. "Just thinking, Mr. Solo told me that he would like changes made to allot for additional help available in one of the sniper nests."

"Oh, I see," Hamilton nodded with the new information. "It's almost four. We need to get ready for the formal dinner at the mayor's house. Guests will be arriving in a few hours."

"I'm right behind you," Illya nodded, gathering himself together, wondering why he suddenly thought of his friend. It gave him a slight tingling sensation that it was going to be important somehow later on tonight.

MFU/MFU

It had taken Napoleon quite a while to find the access to THRUSH's small satrapy located deep within the New City General Hospital. All entrances were hidden from site or had "authorized personnel only" signs to deter most people. Not only that, but the door he did find had a magnetic lock and very a sophisticated alarm system in place.

Once he was able to override the security system, Napoleon carefully and slowly walked around the seemingly deserted medical ward with his gun raised. The three locked patient rooms were empty, but he did notice the two-way mirror on the opposite wall and checked to find the observation room with a single dead man in it. He was wearing a lab coat with the name "Bower" stitched into it right above the left breast pocket. His neck was unceremoniously broken by the looks of it.

The nurse's station was vacant as well, but looked disheveled, as if the staff had left in a hurry. Napoleon wondered how many people worked in this little THRUSH operation; four or five. Where had they all gone?

The only room left to really check, after a quick glance into the med room and soiled utility closet, was what appeared to be a treatment room at the end of the wide hall.

Silently, he grabbed the handle and twisted it to release the bolt from the jam. Swinging the door just wide enough to slide sideways into the room, Napoleon's gun led the way. Methodically, he scanned the room.

The room showed signs of a struggle that had occurred recently by the looks of things. Broken glass, instruments, and bloody towels were scattered on the floor around a single operating room table.

Napoleon gingerly stepped closer to the OR table to get a better look around the room and noticed another dead body lying in a hap-hazard pile on the floor. Like the first man, he had a lab coat on, but no name on the front of it. He was older and thin, a muscular-tough, thin, man that had multiple stab wounds about his chest and arms, but the one cut that probably ended his life was the deep, gut-wrenching, ragged cut across his neck from ear to ear.

Taking his eyes off this poor man's dead body was hard. Napoleon's mind whirled to what did this guy do to deserve this kind of torturous death and was he too late to find Lexi alive. His stomach soured to thoughts of finding her body and what to tell Illya.

Drawing a deep breath in and slowly letting it out through his clinched teeth, Napoleon tried to focus on looking around the room again. The OR table had bloody straps that hung loosely at its side and stirrups raised into a position that he could only guess to be used for a woman.

"Oh, Lexi…" Napoleon said to himself cringing at the idea of what she's been through and turned away from the padded table. "Damn it! Where are you?"

Moving to the side of the room, Napoleon threw down his gun on the built in counter top and leaned heavily on it with his hands. As he looked down, he heard the small click of a trigger being cocked near to where he was standing.

Slowly, while trying to steel his nerves from wanting to jump back into a more protected spot, Napoleon bent his knees and started to lower his body down while picking his gun up off the counter.

Swatting, he could make out a form under the desk that sat next to the cupboards. No other obvious sounds came from the dark space as he inched his way over. With a quick breath in, Napoleon hopped the last few feet to kneel in front of the desk with his gun pointed in front of him.

At first, all he saw was a hand gun aimed right at him, ready to fire. Then, frozen in place, he saw what he was hoped for and feared the most.

"Lexi," Napoleon said in relief, seeing her alive at least.

Although the gun aimed at him was held deadly still, Napoleon could see that she wasn't in control of her body or mind. He paused for a moment to list the damage he could see. Lexi's gun hand was slicked with blood and had several scratches on it. Her other hand lay across her folded up body at an odd angle.

Lexi's deadly pale legs trembled as she held them close with her gun hand wrapped around her knees. Her torso was covered in a blood-soaked hospital gown up to her neck. Napoleon only swallowed in sympathy as extensive finger shaped bruising that traveled around her neck.

Finally, he looked into her sallow-colored face. Several large needle marks circled each of her blurry, red eyes as Lexi's head jerked to the side every few seconds with a nervous tic. The blue in her irises couldn't be seen, because her pupils had engulfed them to make them black as midnight. Gone was her thick auburn hair; reducing her to nothing more than a concentration camp prisoner in appearance.

"Napoleon," she said in a hoarse voice that projected her altered state of awareness even more. "Don't touch me…"

"I wouldn't dream of it, beautiful," Napoleon didn't make any quick moves as he cautiously lowered his gun, but she didn't.

"George." The gun began to shake slightly.

"Mark was able to figure things out in time and we know what happened to you and George."

"Illya," She rasped out.

"Doesn't know that we've found you, but…"

"No!" Lexi brought the gun higher to aim it at his head. "Plans for Illya to kill George… Reaction to him…shooting the mayor…then aiming at Illya…Gregor said."

"I take it that the man over here with a rather large gap in his neck is Gregor?" Napoleon asked softly. "Lexi please give me that gun…"

"No!" She panted out, but changed the direction of the gun's aim as she curled it up in her lap. "You must…help George and Illya. Leave me, I can't…help him…I'm not worth his love…anymore"

Napoleon knew that she wasn't rational, but couldn't just grab the gun from her in the tight spot under the desk. She awkwardly twisted the gun's barrel to her chest, mumbling incoherently.

"Comrade Kuryakin!" Napoleon snapped at her to get her attention. "As your superior officer, you will give me your weapon and that's an order!"

The tone of his voice and her training kicked in with a jerk as she instantly gave him her gun without question and in a proper, procedural handoff. "Sir."

"Now I need to speak with Monica Lane." He barked to get through her defense of multiple personalities that were muddled together right now as Lexi just stared at him, even through those sickening head jerks. "You've vital information for this mission that I need. You'll come with me back to headquarters to report to Mr. Waverly. If at the end of the debriefing you feel that your death would benefit UNCLE, George, or Illya, I will give you back this gun. Is that clear, Agent Lane?"

"Yes…sir," Lexi nodded and head jerked.

"Good," Napoleon took her by the hand she had held the gun with and started to pull her free of the hiding place. "Let's get going."

"I...can't feel…my legs," Lexi whispered as she drew her limp arm away from her lap to expose a wet, bloody, towel.

Napoleon gently pulled the red, blood-soaked towel away to expose a still oozing bullet wound right above her left hip. Looking back up to her face, he knew that she was failing rapidly. Lifting her forward as he pulled her into an embrace, he didn't see or feel an exit wound.

"You stay with me, beautiful," Napoleon demanded, giving her shoulders a quick shake and then picking her up to make a mad dash to the waiting helicopter. "That's an order. I don't to have to deal with Illya if I brought you home in a body bag."

"He wouldn't… the shot remember…" Lexi softly reminded him before grunting out in pain from Napoleon's hurried determination.

"He won't, but I would, George would, Cassidy and their girls would, and most of all, Caitlin would. She still needs to teach you how to shop for Illya. Get him out of only wearing black most of time."

"Black…" Lexi said in a small release of air as Napoleon handed her to the medic on the helicopter

"Lexi, keep talking to me…" Napoleon shouted, climbing in and signaling to the pilot to take off.

"Mission…"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Six

"Napoleon," Illya hissed out, causing the steam from his breath to puncture the air on the cold New Year's Eve night. "Where have you been? You were to be here over two hours ago."

"Something came up and I had to deal with it." Napoleon said in a simple voice and tone that told Illya that this wasn't the time or place to discuss it. "You've done a great job and it's almost over with."

"Great praise," Illya said in a halted calm, wondering what had turned Napoleon more gray and foreboding than usual. "No, I needed your social graces to deal the wives, one in particular, a Mrs. Van Meer. She's very intent on finding out about my non-existent royal family history and tried to converse in her limited abilities to speak Russian."

"I'm sorry I missed the show," Napoleon lightened up a little, shaking hands with Grant Hamilton as he drew near to them

"Mr. Solo," The smiling man said, returning the firm hand shake. "Your presences at tonight's meal was missed. Mr. Kuryakin was regaling us with a story from your college years on how you won trophies in Track and Field, especially in the javelin throwing event."

"I must remember to thank you later, Mr. Kuryakin, and what of his past?" Napoleon retorted, watching his partner closely, both of them trying hard to play it light and failing miserably with each other. "Mr. Hamilton, did he tell you about that as well?"

"He said it was classified by his and our governments." Hamilton smirked, playing along with the friendly banter. "Mr. Kuryakin, Mrs. Van Meer is looking for you, she's looking for some entertainment while her husband and the mayor have started to talk shop again."

"Well, duty calls, Illya." Napoleon nodded as he patted the grimacing man on the shoulder and pushed him toward the group of delegates. "Don't worry, everything is in place and I'm here to help supervise."

"I can hardly wait." A low, quiet growl rang softly to his partner's ear after Illya had already turned to leave, stopping in front of an elderly lady, bowing, and kissing the offered hand before he wrapped it around his extended arm to usher her into a waiting limousine.

Illya thought Napoleon didn't see the worried look that he had given him. After all these years as partners, friends, and brothers, Illya knew that he wasn't telling him everything and something important was going on. He hoped it was about Lexi, but couldn't risk it by asking those kinds of questions right now. Waiting and watching were the best things he could do right now.

But, Napoleon did notice Illya's look of concern and cringed inside for not being able to tell Illya this as they stood outside in the freezing cold. The plan to finish the mission at midnight hinged on Illya not knowing that he just sent a cleanup crew to finish gathering up two dead bodies in New City Hospital and that Lexi was taken to surgery when he had left headquarters.

"So, Mr. Hamilton," Napoleon addressed the slightly taller man while rubbing his gloved hands for warmth. "Did you bring your wife to the main event of the new year?"

"Fanny," Hamilton filled in his wife's name. "She's here somewhere helping with the ladies. She's such a great help in functions like these. I doubt that I'll see her until the ball is ready to drop. We always start the year off with a kiss. It's a tradition of ours."

"It's good to have traditions." Napoleon agreed with a nod. Usually Caitlin and he went out on New Year's as well. "Well, everything seems to be going smoothly."

"Yes," Hamilton nodded. "Mr. Kuryakin is very thorough. Ah, our ride is here, shall we go? It's a short ride to Times Square."

"After you," Napoleon gestured to him as they entered the limo with the mayor in it.

"Thank you, Mr. Solo."

MFU/MFU

Like Illya, all Napoleon could do right now was purposely pace his end of the slightly raised platform, talk with some of the delegates, and listened to the reports from other agents as they checked in over his headset.

He was lucky, Napoleon thought to himself as he was positioned near enough to the portable heaters to stay warm through the last minutes of the old year. Illya, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky yet again.

Although he knew his partner was personally suffering it didn't stop each of them from enjoying the petty little torments the other endured during their assignments. For Illya tonight, it had to be in the much colder part of the platform with not only the amorous Mrs. Van Meer trying to distract him, but also the American Ambassador from the Soviet Union who decided that this was a good time to examine his fellow countryman.

At first, it was the burly senior Russian watching with amusement at the patience mixed with distress the younger man displayed while he continued his patrol on the dais. Finally, the superior officer signaled Illya over to him. What could Illya do, Napoleon thought, but take a moment to go to the heavy wool-coated man and stand at attention as they exchanged a few words. With a quick nod from his partner, Napoleon watched him go back to his position.

Napoleon looked at his watch, with the music and noise ever increasing; he knew the countdown was within three minutes.

"Mr. Solo."

Napoleon jumped. He was so caught off guard by the sudden appearance of Grant Hamilton.

"Mr. Hamilton." Napoleon recovered quickly and turned to the man and wife he had within his grasp. "I assume that this is Mrs. Hamilton."

"Fanny," she said with a smile as he took her hand and gave it a soft kiss. "For a while, I thought that Grant had made you up, but now I can see that he wanted you all to himself."

"We haven't missed a New Year's kiss in ten years," the lovely looking lady commented as she hugged her husband tighter. "I'm not about to let his work get in the way of that."

"Well spoken, my dear." Hamilton smirked and let go of his wife. "But, I must talk with Mr. Kuryakin before the countdown. I'll be right back."

Napoleon grimaced; the hair on the back of his neck started to prickle as he scanned the steps by him to see George slowly, like a robot, walk up by the steps by him with a gun at his side, his finger on the trigger.

"George!" Napoleon called out as he tried to walk around Fanny to grab at the UNCLE agent, but was stopped short by a gun pointed at his mid-section.

"Don't try to stop him, Solo." Fanny pushed Napoleon back, closer to the railing and put herself in his line of fire.

"What about your New Year's kiss?" he asked with his hands up, giving up any protest.

"I can wait a little longer for my kiss this year until after I kill you." Fanny increased the pressure of the barrel into Napoleon's ribs. "I want you to watch the show first."

He watched closely as George made his way closer to the mayor, his gun held straight out at the turned man. He watched in horror as most of the people on the platform were lost in the moment of the lighted ball sparkling in the night sky and raised voices counting down the last ten seconds.

Turning toward George, the mayor looked at the man standing in front of him, dumbfounded to see him there with a gun pointed at him. George said something that Napoleon couldn't hear through the chaotic noise. After that, all he could see was the startled look on the mayor's face. Then, the man fell back into the people crowded around him. The sound of the shot was lost within the shouts and music. It was the mayor's wife who noticed he was down and had not just fallen. She pushed at the man's shoulders and started to scream for those around her to help, but nothing was heard by those around. Another "pop" was heard.

"No!" Fanny screamed in pain and lessened her pressure with the gun on Napoleon's side and he used that moment to wrench the weapon from her hand and pulled her arms behind her back.

As the confusion died down, he looked back to the mayor to see April Dancer with George's gun in her hand, checking on the prone UNCLE chemist, and helping the mayor back up.

"Mr. Solo," Lead Section Three agent, Reece came up to him. "Are you all right?"

"Yes and this little Thrushie is Fanny," Napoleon said as she started to struggle and cry even harder. "She's in this with Hamilton. Take care of her for me."

"You killed him! Bastard!" Fanny spatted out at Reece and Napoleon.

"Sorry, love," Napoleon quipped. "No New Year's kiss this year."

"You didn't have to kill him," she cried out in desperation.

Napoleon looked to Reece to see if he knew what she was talking about. Reece leaned close enough to him to talk into his ear without shouting through the crowd of people trying to making their way to the limos. Other Section Three agents were herding the dignitaries quickly off the platform in front of them. Talks of a dead body peppered the motley conversations.

"Shit!" Napoleon nodded, giving the hysterically sobbing THRUSH agent to Reece. He wanted to run to where he last saw Illya and Hamilton stood, but had to check on the mayor first. Hamilton had been shot and Illya was injured, but Reece didn't know how badly.

Quickly walking to April and the unconscious George, Napoleon nodded his approval to her for completing her part of the plan perfectly.

"Did George suspect anything when you checked his clip?" he asked even while he searched through the crowd for his partner. "I didn't see any problems with the mayor's acting."

"I can handle this Napoleon," April pushed him back from the group of people enough to talk to him quietly. "Go tell him. Waverly shut off his communicator to headquarters for a while. He needs to know that we found her. The surgery is still going on."

"I owe you, April, for your woman's intuition and Mark…" Napoleon gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

"When don't you?" April asked and smiled. "Go!"

Napoleon gave April's arm a squeeze and continued to the opposite side of the wooden platform. A crowd of people blocked his view until someone shouted to clear the way. Then he heard the sweetest words he could imagine ring out into the cold, wintery air.

"I can walk! Choyrt! I'm fine. It's only a small gunshot wound. I've had worse and haven't been strapped down to a gurney either!"

"Lieutenant Comrade!" The deep-guttural bark threatened. "You're to let the medics help you or I will personally carry you all the way to UNCLE myself over my shoulder."

The rest was said in Russian and personally to Illya without either one of them breaking eye contact. With a sharp nod from the blond agent, the ambassador let go of the handles to the gurney and straightened up. With a blank face, Illya crossed his arms over his disheveled and bloodied coat. He remained silent as they took him to a waiting ambulance. Napoleon knew that he wanted to do. He wanted find Lexi; not head to medical with a bullet in his shoulder.

MFU/MFU

Napoleon waited for Illya's gurney to be loaded into the ambulance before he jumped in to silently watch the blow-by-blows actions between Illya and the medics: arguing with them about how much he needed done, where to start an IV, and that he didn't need or want morphine. He didn't want to be drugged even though he was reeling in pain. It was easy for Napoleon to tell Illya was in pain by how white his knuckles got just gripping the blanket that covered him

With a sad smile, Napoleon finally cleared his throat so Illya would focus on him and let the medics do their job. He looked up at him, hoping to bring Napoleon into this battle of wills and help him get free so he could go on his search, but Napoleon just shook his head.

"Aren't you going to help me?"

Illya didn't even try to hide his anger and distress. He'd done his duty to UNCLE and now he wasn't going to be denied. Napoleon cringed in sympathy at the hurt expression on his face.

"Illya," Napoleon softly said, clearing his dry throat again. "I found her. She was shot and is still in surgery."

After a few quiet moments of Illya staring at his partner with ice blue, penetrating eyes, and finally he gave a medic his arm to start an IV. Then he leaned against the raised back of the gurney and let the other medic dress his shoulder wound.

"No Morphine."

After the medic stabilized the bleeding, Napoleon switched places with one of the medics so he could sit close to Illya's wounded shoulder and talked softly into his ear. He began his story about April's meddling concerning Mark's dream, the trip to Medical to see Mark talking with Sheppard and Samuel, and what he found at the THRUSH satrapy including the dead bodies and Lexi's condition.

Napoleon had just finished telling Illya what he needed to know as they entered UNCLE's parking garage. Both doors opened up to more medical personnel waiting to greet the two agents. Not a word was spoken as the procession made its way into the main medical treatment room.

The gurney wheels had barely been locked before Illya looked up at Napoleon and said in a tiny, determined voice. "Help me, please."

Napoleon already knew what Illya wanted to do and he wasn't going to stop him. With a nod, he released the straps across Illya's legs and hips and helped him up on unsteady legs. He grabbed his friend's trembling arm and helped him out of the exam room despite the protests of the medical staff.

"Yes, yes, it's enough!" Napoleon shouted. "He'll be back shortly. I promise."

Chapter Seven

Although the dual surgical suites and recovery area were less than fifty feet from the emergent treatment room, it was a long painful walk for Napoleon. Illya had faltered in his step a couple of times and remained deadly silent. It scared him to think what his Russian friend was thinking and what he might do in revenge.

Then, suddenly it dawned on him. Illya was Lexi's life line to the world, as he'd been for Illya. People had thought Illya was hard-nosed, lacking in humor, and social skills, but that was mostly an image that he played while he was overcoming his troubling past.

Through the years, Napoleon found him to be warm, funny, caring, and willing to take on immense responsibilities, including causing death for the good of the many. He was what Lexi needed to prevent the falling off the edge of sanity that their early conditioning and training created. She needed him to surpass what they were and be more. Illya was trying to save her in the way that she could accept and work with.

He just realized that Lexi was becoming more like Illya the longer she was here with him at UNCLE. She allowed herself to feel things more openly and developed new friendships. She was learning to love and care for others on a whole new level; she wasn't the unsympathetic killer she was trained to be. She'd come a long way because of Illya and others in UNCLE.

The doors to the OR banged open in front of the shuffling agents, breaking Napoleon's train of thought. Surgeons, Sheppard and Allen, steered the OR cart to the adjacent room and hooked up the monitors again. A whirl of doctors and nurses buzzed around the small space.

"Gentlemen," a strong voice of their commanding Section One Head stopped them from entering the chaotic activity. "I was just about to call you about Miss Lane's status, but I believe that you have beaten me here. Mr. Kuryakin, I don't believe that you have been released from Medical's care to be standing in this hallway."

"No, sir," Illya said firmly with a sour look on his face. It was almost a challenge to Mr. Waverly to try and stop him. "I had to see her."

"Yes," Waverly quietly agreed. "But make it quick, before you start bleeding all over the floor. It will also give the medical staff a chance to clean the Operating Theater for your surgery. I'll hear no more of you refusing treatment after this. Mr. Solo will make sure you keep that promise."

"Yes sir, I will." Napoleon nodded with a sense of relief that Waverly wasn't angry as much as concerned for his enforcement agents.

"Good, now let us go and find out how Miss Lane is doing."

Waverly gestured them forward into the recovery area as most of the medical staff had now departed to get prepared for the next patient. The surgeons were there to greet the men they blocked their view of the patient.

"Ah, Mr. Kuryakin," Allen turned as the men approached. "My spies told me to expect a visit from you and your conspirators before you'd let anyone touch you. Now, before I let you pass, I get to have a quick look at that wound and no butts about it. I can't have my nurses' upset that I don't know what to prepare for in the OR. It's bad enough to be working New Year's, but all night long as well. I'd like to keep them happy somehow. You and Napoleon owe them each a bouquet flowers and a box of chocolates."

Illya rolled his eyes up a fraction before nodding as he let Allen pull a section of the pressure dressing loose to see the damage the stray bullet had cause. The pain and renewed bleeding caused him to swoon enough for Napoleon to place a supporting arm around his waist.

"Well, you're just like Lane here and wanted to keep the bullet with you into the next year," Allen sighed dramatically and waved to Napoleon to bring Illya closer to Lexi's stretcher. "I'm going to make the arrangements and Paul will tell you about Lane. Well, as much as we know at this point. I may need your help with the rest to explain what her true condition is."

Illya stopped the man with a firm hand on his arm before he could pass. Looking squarely in the eye, he simply said, "Thank you."

Stunned, Allen glared shrewdly at Illya for a few moments and then gave him a hard smile. "Don't keep me waiting. It's your turn to take care of her and help keep her alive from what she's suffered. I've done all I can for now."

Letting go of Allen's arm, Illya swallowed roughly as he took the last few steps to the side rail of the transport cart that held a frail, small person with multiple, colored tubes running from her body. Illya grabbed the cool, metal bar to steady himself, before reaching to stroke her buzzed head.

"She's not as bad off as she looks," Dr. Paul Sheppard's strong steady voice rang out and threw something toward Illya's good side, which he easily caught. "Here, a present for the New Year and don't say I never give you anything."

Illya opened his hand to reveal a small glass jar with a white, enameled lid. Shaking it, the damaged bullet tinkled as it struck the sides. Illya smirked as he handed the jar to Napoleon for evidence.

"We found it embedded in her T12 vertebra, pinching her spinal cord. Her legs will feel numb and be weak for quite a while as the spinal shock wears off, but she's already moving her toes some."

"Spinal shock," Napoleon asked. "What's that?"

"Trauma to the spinal cord causes it to spasm and won't work at a level higher than the true sight of injury at her thoracic vertebrae 11." Paul explained, bringing his large, flat, black, hand to his abdomen. "She may have trouble feeling and moving everything lower than this."

"Dr. Sheppard," Mr. Waverly's voice broke in. "What are these puncture marks by Miss Lane's eyes?"

"I don't know," Paul pulled his scrub hat off in frustration. "We hadn't had time to check out much more until we fixed the bullet wound and the bleeding. Other than those marks, a few scrapes and bruises, the only thing we noticed were more puncture marks bilaterally on each side of her abdomen, odd. We're waiting for the blood work to be finished."

"Those look like lobotomy marks," Illya curtly informed the group through clinched teeth as he continues to stare at Lexi's pale, somber face. "Dr. Gregor Vollef of Poland was the top scientist in Eastern Europe for his experiments on the human brain. He believed that he could control human behavior by the selective cutting of nerve branches in the frontal cortex lobe of the brain through the eye sockets, but he's been dead for years."

"Gregor," Napoleon Thoughtfully asked. "That's what Lexi called the dead man in the room with her."

"Not as dead as we were lead to believe, eh, Mr. Kuryakin." Waverly said with a stern gaze. "The cleanup crew identified the two dead men at the satrapy in the New City General Hospital. Seth Bower was a minor THRUSH doctor assigned to brainwash Dr. Thompson to shoot the mayor of New York. The other one is Dr. Jakob Stellan. He's one of the top men at THRUSH Central. He's eluded us and several governmental enforcement agencies since he became known to us. His death has caused a very big rip in THRUSH's armor. This may be the beginning of the end for them."

"Gregor Vollef was an associate to General Boris Kuryakin and Alexana's commanding officer for a while when we were younger…"

"Yes, Mr. Kuryakin." Waverly stopped him abruptly. "I remember what happened. I don't think we want to relive that experience again right now."

Napoleon raised his head in question. He was missing something that was going on between Illya and Waverly. So was Dr. Paul as he went to check Lexi's breathing with his stethoscope and then look into her eyes with a penlight.

The flash of light in Lexi's eyes woke her up enough to let out a big sigh, but she didn't open them. Instead, her head began its sickening, rhythmic jerk to the left the more conscious she became.

Suddenly, her blue eyes snapped open and frantically looked around. Tears started to well up as Lexi began to turn her head to focus on the people around the bed. She held very still, almost afraid to move, looking down to see her hand being held and following the arm up to who held it, but no recognition showed in her face.

"Pain…" Lexi softly moaned, pulling her hand from Illya's and awkwardly pointed to her head as it jerked. "Got…save…Illya…George."

"Lexi," Illya said firmly to get her attention and attempted to hold her hand again while she closed her droopy eyes. "I'm right here, I'm fine and George's going to be, well, George when we get him treated. Can't you see me? Paul?"

"Her pupils are reacting to the light, but she's still pretty out of it." Paul said cautiously, flashing his penlight into her eyes again. "Could be the swelling around her eyes that's distorting her vision…"

"Ask her something in that language you share," Napoleon suggested. He swallowed impatiently as he knew that Illya was running out of strength to stand even with his support.

Illya nodded while trying to hide his fear and started to ramble cheerfully to her about how he'd missed her and how dare she missed their time together for the holidays. Why didn't she tell him that they were to bring Chinese food to George's house?

Through this, they could tell Lexi was listening with closed eyes, but didn't comment other than to frown or grimace at different times.

"Comrade Kuryakin!" Napoleon shouted to everyone's surprise, including Lexi, because she instantly popped her eyes open and looked straight at Napoleon. It had worked once, maybe again. "Who are you?"

"Lieutenant Comrade Alexana Sonja Kuryakin."

"Who is in this room with you?" Napoleon barked sharply again.

"Illya Kuryakin, Alexander Waverly, Napoleon Solo, and Paul Sheppard," her voice hoarse from the endotracheal tube called out with no emotion or inflection.

"This mission isn't complete. You will rest now and report later to Mr. Waverly and me. Is that understood?" Napoleon ordered. "You'll understand that both Illya and George are safe and taken care of."

"Yes…sir," Lexi's weak voice faltered with a head jerk as she closed her eyes and fell back asleep.

"You," Napoleon said in the same commanding voice, pointing his finger at his stunned partner. "Will now go back to the treatment room and get ready for surgery."

Before he could protest, Mr. Waverly took Illya's other arm, helped Napoleon turn him around, and hustled him out of the room.

"I believe that Mr. Solo has set the tone. We'll look into Miss Lane's well-being after we take care of yours, Mr. Kuryakin."

"Take care of her, Paul," Illya shouted backwards as he was pulled forward down the hallway.

"I will." Paul sighed, pulling a chair closer to the bed: sat down, folding his body around the side rail, and took her hand in his. "Now, my dear friend, what do you and I know about frontal lobotomies…"

Chapter Seven

It had been three long days for Napoleon Solo since New Year's Eve affair had ended before he could actually enjoy a breath of fresh air outside and smoke a cigarette. Smoking was one of his lesser indulged habits that his Russian partner frowned on and would complain about when he could smell it on his clothes.

He was hoping by the time he got to Illya's apartment, the smell would be barely noticeable. The short walk from his parked car in the damp, cold, night air was refreshing compared to the stuffy gray walls of UNCLE headquarters.

By the time he got up to Illya's third floor flat in his brownstone building, Napoleon was regretting his decision for even taking just one of those pleasurable drags as his lungs heaved for air after the usually simple jog up a stoop and two flights of stairs took its toll. After waiting a few moments for his breathing to even out, Napoleon knocked on the door.

"Come in, Napoleon." Illya shouted through the door. "It's open."

Concerned that something was wrong, Napoleon pulled his gun from his holster and slowly opened the unlocked door a crack and then swinging it all the way with a loud bang. Seeing no one other than Illya sitting quietly on the couch, he searched all the rooms with his gun in front of him before coming back into the living room.

"What are you thinking?" He nearly screamed at the visibly exhausted man, shoving his gun back into his jacket. "You know the procedure."

"Yes, I do," Illya said calmly, not moving from the couch, but removed his held gun from behind his arm sling. "I knew that you were coming. Mark and April left a short while back and I didn't feel like locking everything down just to open it for you. Besides, the way you huffed and puffed up my stairs, I knew that it was you and that you were being stupid yet again."

"No more than you." Napoleon growled back. "You're in no shape to defend yourself when just getting out of Medical today. I had heard that they wouldn't let you stay with Lexi right now. What would Waverly say if I put you on report for this lack of judgment?"

"On report, Napoleon," Illya snorted as he slowly and painfully got up, put his gun down on the coffee table, and tromped angrily into his open galley kitchen. "Is that the best you can do?"

"Hey," Napoleon accused Illya as he sat down on a stool by the breakfast bar. "You're not going to drink while on painkillers, are you?"

"Yes, I feel the need to overdose on drugs and alcohol while I'm feeling sorry for myself." Illya oozed sarcastically, picking up two shot glasses with his free hand and setting them on a counter. "Go reset the door locks."

Wordlessly Napoleon got up and did what he was told. When he returned to the worn, wooden, bar stool, he noticed that Illya had orange juice in one glass and his friend's usual scotch in the other. He watched the blond man shake two pills out of a brown glass bottle, pop then into his mouth, and then wash them down in one big gulp.

"I see that you're staying put tonight, wants some company?" Napoleon offered for he could see the angst in Illya's cloudy, deep, blue eyes. Those who got to know the great Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin could read his mood by the slight change of the blue hue his eyes betrayed.

"What about Caitlin?" Illya asked.

"Not in town. Not that would've mattered" Napoleon confirmed. "I have no date or place to go. I'll sleep on the couch and then we can finally talk about what was not said between you and Waverly. You owe me that, because I got my ass chewed out for letting you see Lexi before your surgery by Dr. Allen. I figure you have about twenty minutes before falling asleep after swallowing those pills and then I'll have to entertain myself after that."

"It's complicated," Illya said while he tugged at his sling to get it into more of a comfortable position.

"Try me," Napoleon glared at him. "I like complicated and I need to know what I can expect from you and Lexi. I have to have something I can use to keep Dr. Samuel at bay for a little longer. He wants to end her career in Section Two."

"It's already lost." Illya sighed in resignation, running his good hand through his messy blond hair. "My best hope right now is to keep her from killing herself or others."

"Go, sit, and spill what you know." Napoleon gestured with his head to the couch. "Have you eaten? Forget it; I already know the answer, stupid of me to even ask."

Napoleon waited for Illya to leave the cramped kitchen and plop down on the couch before he started to search his kitchen for something edible. Finding some eggs in the fridge and bread, he began to make some scrambled eggs with toast.

"Start talking and from the beginning," Napoleon turned to his partner and pointed at him with a frying pan in his hand. "Don't leave anything out, you stubborn Russian."

"Must you always qualify your requests?" Illya devilishly smiled as his body and mind were beginning to be released from their tight knots of pain with the help of medication and being able to freely talk with his brother.

"Yes, now no more stalling," Napoleon said while cracking a couple of eggs.

"What do you know about hypnotics?" Illya asked.

"I know that I don't like them." Napoleon quipped. "But that's not what we're talking about…"

"Yes, it is. It's part of it. What do you know about them?" Illya insisted.

"Again, I know that I don't like them unless someone else is getting them. Tell me what I should know."

"Hypnotics are short-term answers to altering a person's ability to think for themselves and to be controlled by others. To keep a subject under the influence for longer periods of time; they need to be continually administered. Only Lexi's mother had created a stable enough formula that when infused into the brain in such a way it becomes a permanent thought or belief."

"But you said it only happens one time and then it's useless." Napoleon interrupted. "I'm still not following why this is important. I thought that only Lexi knew that formula and she had already given it to you during that mole-finding mission…"

"Yes, but no one else knew about that formula either from the beginning, including Uncle General Boris Kuryakin, Dr. Gregor Vollef, Petrey, or me," Illya continued on as Napoleon set the food in front of his friend.

"Okay, who's Petrey?" Napoleon groaned as he sat down on the only other piece of furniture Illya had in the living room. It was an old straight back rocker that was very uncomfortable.

"Petrey Korran was a good friend of mine from the Navy and was one of many men who fell for Lexi. He was twenty and Lexi and I were sixteen." Illya wondered to himself if it was odd that he thought about his friend twice within a week. "It was before Lexi and I knew that we were meant for each other. It took me longer to see what was right before my eyes."

"So, he was in competition with you for Lexi." Napoleon jumped ahead.

"Not with me, but with Dr. Gregor Vollef." Illya sneered out. "The good doctor was from Poland and one of General Kuryakin's handpicked scientists when he and Lexi's mother tried to train a group of children into assassins for the Soviet Union."

"Yes, Lexi told me that you two were the only ones to survive and that your training didn't stop there. The rest were killed or pushed others to kill them. She said that you two found help within each other and that's before you found out about the genetic coding you both had from your parents."

"Yes, but I now know that I was luckier than she was. My father had taken me away from General Kuryakin's genetic experiment to be with my grandmother and the Nomadic Gypsies for a few years before the war had officially begun. Love, family, and caring for others were impressed on me; Lexi didn't get that.

"Her mother and my father made me promise to take care of her. What could I do, but be there for her as she is for me. For a while, I resented the promise I'd made because, she did everything in her power to be around me all the time when she could; like an irritating sibling. I couldn't understand why until just recently…"

"What?" Napoleon practically was bolting off the edge of his seat. This was only one of a few times he could get Illya to talk about his past; when he was high on painkillers and on a full stomach. Illya didn't finish his sentence, but continued on with the main part of the history lesson to Napoleon's mild disappointment.

"Lexi had been assigned to be under the leadership of Vollef in the KGB while I was in the Navy with Petrey. She had shown interest and aptitude in chemical formulas creations even back then and he was renowned for his study in treating abnormal behaviors and conditioning highly trained soldiers for battle. He was convinced that he could permanently alter a person's state of being with selective frontal lobotomies instead of hypnotics."

"I thought that lobotomies were too dangerous." Napoleon stated out loud, his mind remembering the large, deep, pin-pricks around Lexi's eyes.

"They are, but he was very zealous about his theories and was given complete autonomy. Lexi was there to learn from him, not only about his medical methods, but how to become a better spy. It wasn't long before he wanted her for himself as well as protégé."

"But, what was she as you said, barely sixteen?" Napoleon asked, trying to keep everything straight. "Jail bait for him."

"I thought so too, but, at the time, I was in the Navy and not in a position to help her much. Actually, I was glad, she couldn't be on the sub with me" Illya smiled shyly. "She was short, skinny, just like a boy with long hair, and seemed to me a very silly partner and cousin but, could help me win most the challenges that were assigned to us. That all changed one day I when got off the sub with Petrey."

"Ah, the butterfly emerged from her cocoon." Napoleon surmised by Illya's unshielded and pleasant memory took over his face for an instant and then it turned sad.

"Yes, but to my surprise, she didn't want anything to do with me like before, but went straight for Petrey. I didn't care, at first. For a month, all I heard from Petrey was 'Alexana this and Alexana that'; it was driving me crazy as I began preparing to go away to Moscow to finish my training before I was off to Sorbonne."

"So, old Vollef had competition for his underling's affection's and that didn't sit well with him," Napoleon finished the obvious.

"I had gotten a letter from Petrey voicing his concern for Lexi. He told me about how she wanted him to walk her home from the lab everyday and witnessed a heated discussion that Lexi and Vollef had that suddenly stopped when he opened the door to the lab one day. He knew that she'd called General Kuryakin and was pleading on the phone about something."

"Then?"

"Then, nothing," Illya's half-closed eyes opened as he shifted to lean back against one of the arms of the couch and straightened out his legs on the other one. "No more letters, no one answering my phone calls to Petrey, or concern from Father once I got through to him, until..."

"Until?"

"I got a letter from the General Kuryakin to come to Kiev before I was to leave for Paris and go to the university." Illya rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Petrey had found out that Vollef had kidnapped Lexi after he'd found evidence that something had been done to her physically in the lab when he went to go pick her up one afternoon. Blood was found everywhere."

"Lexi's?"

"No, Vellof's," Illya corrected him. "He'd been stabbed by Lexi in the shoulder and when Petrey confronted him, Vollef knew that the General had been alerted that she was gone. The argument heated up and Vollef shot Petrey, killing him."

"What happened next?"

"The General arrested Vollef and made him tell him where she was before he personally sent him to a Siberian gulag for several years. He was reported dead after leaving the prison a few years back."

"And Lexi, where was she?"

"She was found in one of the Border States in a low-class brothel beaten, starved, chained to a wall, and drugged into submission. The General ordered me to help her get back mentally and physically back into shape, where she was before the incident. He'd put too much time, training, and money into her education not to save her."

"So?" Napoleon encouraged before Illya fell asleep.

"So, for the first year in Paris, I visited, walked, and talked with her in a private state-run health facility to pull her back from drowning in the pain and suffering she had endured. I realized then that I truly cared for her more deeply than anyone else. She focused on her training and used her experience to become who you saw in Kiev, to what we were and are; tools."

"Tools?"

"Tools for the Soviet Union and General Kuryakin," Illya finished with a yawn, curled up on his good side, and snuggled into the cushions.

"Ah, so that's what Waverly wasn't telling me?"

Napoleon nodded to himself as he watched his partner drift off to sleep: happier he was able to tell him what not many knew and that Napoleon would understand. "It's always been you, my dear friend, with the help of others there to save her. Now it's my turn to do this with you. Consider it a favor and help to keep your promise to your real father."

Napoleon got up and grabbed a blanket from Illya's bed and draped it across his sleeping form. Going to the kitchen, he poured another scotch, went to sit down at the small kitchen table and picked up the phone. He had an idea. He didn't know if it would work or not, but wanted to give it a shot anyway.

"Hey, Cassidy, it's Napoleon," he talked softly on the phone. "How's George doing? Good. Listen, I need to get the group together so we can help Illya and Lexi out. I have a plan."

MFU/MFU

The next morning, Illya and Napoleon walked into Medical to find it quiet. Staff was very busy scurrying around them as they walked to the room where Lexi was staying. Dr. Allen had warned them that today would be exhausting for his patient. He'd planned to decrease the amount of sedatives and painkillers that she was on so they could get a better picture of what had happened in the small satrapy before Napoleon had rescued her. She was still weak from the blood loss, but she was improving slowly.

The first sight that Napoleon saw was a ball in the middle of the bed, hidden under a white, fuzzy blanket. A single IV line gracefully curved its way around to the side and then disappeared within the smooth folds.

"That's become her favorite position for the past day and a half," Illya said in a hushed voice.

Napoleon looked again and started to make out a shape of a body wrapped up into a fetal position. Lexi's arms held her folded legs tight to her chin. Her shaved head was tucked down deep into her chest so no part of her body was exposed.

Suddenly, a small tremor began in her body with a low moan starting to build into a rant of half-spoken words and then, the outburst ending with a muffled scream.

Illya started to murmur a steady stream of words into Lexi's ear before he attempted to put his hand on her hunched shoulder. His touch caused her head to jerk more noticeably as she started to pull out of her compact bundle. Very slowly, she pushed her limp legs straight and turned to her back with a haggard look of pain and frustration mixed upon her face.

"Hey, beautiful," Napoleon said with a weak smile. "Sleeping in this morning? It's almost ten o'clock. I brought the one-armed man with me."

Fixing her eyes on where the voice had come from, Lexi turned her blank, stormy, blue eyes to him and then turned to Illya. For a few tense moments, she looked at each of them silently and then licked her dry lips

"Mor…ning, Nap...py," A tired, rasping voice could barely be heard as the jerking of her head made it harder to talk. "I'm…under…weather."

"You've never looked better to me in your life," Napoleon continued to smile brightly.

"Liar!" Lexi said in a furious spat, forcibly closing her eyes, biting her lip, and turning away. Beating her clinched fists into the mattress, she started to tremble while trying to control the sudden flash of anger.

"I'm...sorry. Can't…control…this."

"I understand," Napoleon nodded, picking up her hand to hold it, felt the tremors start to still, and then relax.

Illya picked up the pitcher of water on the night stand, filled a glass with water, and toss a straw in it. Then he picked up the bed's remote control and asked Lexi, "Ready?"

With an upward nod of her head, Illya raised the head of her bed; watching Lexi support her abdominal incision as the back went up.

"Here, drink this," he ordered her. "You'll need it. Doctors Allen and Samuel are going to come in here to pick your brain apart shortly."

"Lexi, I don't know why you put up with such a charming person." Napoleon baited his partner to which Illya said something sarcastically in another language.

Lexi watched the interaction between the two men, but didn't comment. She looked from one and then to the other with a half-open mouth as if trying to say something, but couldn't find the words. Illya scrutinized her with concern while bringing the straw closer, but she waved it away. Not to be deterred, he moved the tip of the straw to within an inch of her lips.

"Nnnn…no!" Lexi shoved at the glass hard enough in his hand for it to spill its contents onto the floor. "I…not…more."

Illya started to lightly argue with her in Russian. Instead of listening to him, she ground the heels of her palms into her forehead, rocked forward in pain, and began to shake with visible in uncontrollable anger. The sideways jerk of her head increased in its severity and frequency.

Illya and Napoleon glanced at each other with concern. Then, Illya lowered the side rail of the hospital bed to get closer to her and leaned forward to bring his arm around her shoulders when Lexi wildly swung out her arms.

"I…I hear. I know words…can't think…understand," Lexi said in an incoherent stream and tore out the IV line attached to the crook of her arm. "I go…I want go…"

With a quickness and determination not expected, Lexi shoved both Illya and Napoleon's hands away, grabbed the other side rail bar to pull her body to the bottom of the bed and off the edge. Her weak legs slid off the side of the bed, but couldn't support her weight as she toppled hard to the linoleum floor.

Napoleon was the first one to reach the prone Section Two agent, picking her up gently up, and set her on the side of the bed between him and Illya. Instantly, Lexi threw her arms around Illya's neck and began to cry hysterically.

Napoleon waved off the medical staff that had started to rush into the room and then he began to stand up to leave Illya and Lexi alone, but the pressure of his partner's good hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Gregor…revenge," she said in a ragged breath. "He wanted…me to forget…you. Took away my... talk…languages…be in UNCLE. Wanted…you to see…me suffer."

"He wasn't able to do that, was he?" Illya squeezed her even tighter as he talked into her ear. His cheek felt the rough stubble of her hair beginning to grow back.

"No," she grunted out.

"And I now know why." Illya said softly, lifting his gaze to Napoleon. "Your mother gave you an injection of her special formula. Didn't she, Lexi?"

Napoleon watched her nod her head; which it never left Illya's shoulder. Eyeing his partner, Napoleon now knew why their conversation about hypnotics was so important last night.

"I was the first one…to test on." Lexi stuttered. "She made me…promise…take care…of you. Love you…even as…sister…if need be. Not give you…right to choose."

"No wonder you were such a pain in the ass growing up." Illya lovingly scolded her. "All those times you showed up, willing to do anything I told you to do. All that you did to be there for me; suffering through anything just to be near me and letting me go to work for UNCLE. I'd left you alone all those times, fearing the worst. Now, I know I had a guardian angel. It's time for me to help you help me."

"Na…py…there for you now…I…can't..," Lexi sobbed harder. It was the first time Napoleon had ever seen her cry.

"No, I need you," he shook his head, pushed her back far enough to make her look at him, gently wiping a tear from her cheek. "Remember the promise you made me? That when you left Section Two, we would start thinking of a family? Napoleon can't help me with that and Gregor started you off with those abdominal injections, didn't he?"

"I don't have the right plumbing for that and I don't find my partner all that appealing." Napoleon said smugly to Lexi, not realizing that she had minutely nodded to Illya while he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Although, if his hair gets any longer, he might give Caitlin a run for her money…"

Both Illya and Lexi chuckled softly. Lexi leaned back into Napoleon's side; exhausted and shaking. Signaling for Illya to stand up first, Napoleon took her by the waist with one arm and slipped the other under her legs. He easily picked her up as he stood up, walked to the other side of the hospital bed, and lifted her over the side rail to set her down gracefully on the bed.

Illya stood on the other side of the bed, raised the cool metal side rail with his good arm, and then readjusted his sling before he leaned over to give Lexi's head, a gentle rub. Napoleon pulled the spurned blankets over her and held her hand.

"Don't know…if all this...," Lexi circled a tired finger in the air and then pointed to her head as it jerked. "Permanent. I have to…relearn…"

"Later, rest now," Illya pushed while watching her drift off into a light sleep. "We will have to let 'them' in to check you out and start another IV. We'll come by later with George once you've rested once the evil doctors have had their way with you."

"Tell…Waverly," Lexi murmured as Illya bent down to give her a small kiss on her forehead and then pulled back.

"What about the lab?" Illya asked, looking at his partner with silent confirmation that she was indeed out of Section Two. Napoleon grimaced and shoved his restless hands into his pockets.

"Time…will tell…George help," she squinted and waved them away. "Go… to work."

Chapter Eight

"I don't care where he is, I want Mr. Kuryakin in my office now!"

Everyone at the nurses' station in Medical nervously looked at the two men as Illya and Napoleon had just closed the door to Lexi's hospital room and heard the last comment ring throughout the hallway.

Other than a quick, quizzical look shot at his dark-haired partner, Illya's expression remained unreadable. It had been an exhausting day already and it wasn't even noon yet.

"Okay, what did you do this time?" Napoleon said in a mock frustration to ease the tension as they nodded to the suddenly over-productive on-lookers. "Not one of your gadgets again, is it?"

"I assure you that my "gadgets" as you call them are quite safe until you get your hands on them and play with their circuitry." Illya snipped back, leading the way to Waverly's office. "Besides, what could I've done? I'm a one-handed right now."

"Oh, I've seen you cause a lot of damage and not have use of either of your hands to do it with." Napoleon teased. He knew that Illya would consider that tart remark a compliment.

"Thank you, I do try," Illya said with a smirked as they reached Heather McNabb's desk just outside of Waverly's office.

"Ah, there you are, Mr. Kuryakin." Heather rolled her exasperated, grey eyes toward her boss's door. "I see that you got the message that he wanted to see you, but not you, Mr. Solo. Illya is to go in there alone."

"Wow, well, Illya, it was nice working with you…" Napoleon whistled softly and hitched a hip onto Heather's desk. "Don't forget your bullet-proof vest."

"Napoleon," Illya said coldly with a penetrating glare that made Heather's spine shiver. "You are not helping."

"Get in here, Mr. Kuryakin, now. Mr. Solo, I expect that report in fifteen minutes. This won't take very long and leave my secretary alone. She's got enough to do other than give you fodder to start rumors."

"Yes, sir," all three people said staring at the intercom, jumped up and went their separate ways.

MFU/MFU

"Sit down, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly curtly said as Illya hesitantly strode into the section head's office.

"I came as soon as I heard you were requesting my presence," Illya calmly stated.

The pain pills were wearing off, he was worried about Lexi, and now Waverly was upset. He felt like this was just the beginning of a countdown to a very bad year.

"I just had a very interesting call from the Soviet Ambassador still on his visit to New York about you." Waverly said through clinched teeth while packing his pipe with tobacco. "A very interesting conversation with him indeed!"

"Sir," Illya asked, his mind spinning as to what he was referring to.

He had barely talked to the General Comrade at the New York mayor's dinner and in the stands before he got the gun away from Hamilton. He wouldn't have gotten shot if it hadn't been for Mrs. Van Meer trying to come to his aid. She'd put herself in the line of fire and luckily, he was able to twist Hamilton's arm just enough to prevent her from getting her head blown off.

"Yes," Waverly's voice became contrite. "He was so impressed by the way you handled the operation and taking a bullet for an egotistical American woman that he wants to get you promoted within the Soviet Union's Political machine. He wants you to represent the USSR in the growing relations with China and Indonesia."

"Mr. Waverly, I had no prior knowledge of this." Illya said in sheer astonishment; knowing that he would be doing more than being an ambassador of goodwill for his country. "I like you, have watched and observed the ever increasing tensions in Vietnam, but have no wish to leave UNCLE."

"Nor would I let you go without a fight," The older man said sternly. "All I can say is that even with personal issues, you did your job well, too well. The Ambassador knows many powerful decision makers in the Kremlin, including the prime minister."

"Yes, I know," Illya nodded his head. "My status here at UNCLE is contingent on many factors and I've held on to my Soviet citizenship for sentimental reasons that may not be there anymore. I don't want to be arrested as a traitor if I defected either.

"And you know that UNCLE cannot help you," Waverly gave his astonished agent a fatherly gaze through the rising pipe smoke. "Our agreement was that you'd stay in Section Two or go back to the Soviet Union as a high ranking officer. As you say, defection is treason and death if you should go back. I was hoping that you didn't have to decide on this issue for a few more years…"

"What if they order me back to the Motherland?" Illya asked as he stared intently down at the wooden tabletop. Thoughts and concerns whirled within his mind: he same ones ever since he started working for UNCLE.

"I will offer them a compromise." Waverly sighed in frustration. "You were given to UNCLE to be used in Section Two as long as you were able to and there you'll stay, even if that means in the capacity of being a liaison to the USSR. There's much evidence that outside forces are getting involved to interfere with this conflict. I want you to keep close tabs on who are all of the players and what activities they're up to."

"I understand."

"I can only hope that the prime minister upholds our original agreement, keeps you right where you belong, and does not involve you in that quagmire."

"That would be my wish as well." Illya cleared his voice to prevent his superior from hearing it start to shake.

All of his plans with Napoleon and Lexi were unraveling faster than he could repair them. He already knew the tension and strain of his nationality was affecting his authority with newer members of UNCLE until they got to know the stoic, reserved man.

"At this point, while you are on extended medical leave." Waverly puffed, leaning back in his chair and breaking Illya's train of thought. "I want you to keep updated with all the information you can from both sides of this issue, just in case we're needed at a moment's notice."

Illya looked up from the table and stared at the man who would throw him into another battle to help save the world without batting an eye, suddenly looking his age and frail.

"I won't lie to you and say it's going to be easy." Waverly said forebodingly. "Now, more than ever, I dare say. Many of our supporting countries are pulling back and focusing on their own issues and not the world-wide picture."

"And THRUSH, sir?" Illya asked.

"Will try to use this time to their advantage I dare say." Waverly puffed harder on his pipe. "Miss Lane's recent actions set into motion a last ditch effort for THRUSH to survive such a crucial blow as the unexpected Stellan's death was, by forming tighter ranks to try and destroy UNCLE. Only time will tell who'll deliver the next significant blow."

"And, Miss Lane's status?" Illya went to the next thought. "Do they know that she's no longer in the game?"

"I've already started the wheels in motion." Waverly exhaled a cloud of pungent smoke. "I have it on good authority that mutual parties reported that THRUSH did know of Stellan's death and who caused it. That she was taken back to UNCLE headquarters suffering from a nasty gunshot wound and listed on the permanently disabled list with a little help from our informants that are paid to leak misinformation to Central. And that we are sending her to our long-term care facility, Rosewood, at the end of this week."

"I'll tell her." Illya nodded sadly. "Is that all?"

"No," Waverly shook his head. "You're to meet with the Ambassador this afternoon at the Soviet Consulate and explain to him my position on your current job status. I'm sure that you will find the right persuasive line to take with him. He wants to hear from you personally about your desires to stay at UNCLE. See to it. Meeting is set for three o'clock."

"Yes, sir," Illya said as lightly as he could while trying to hide his building anger and frustration. He stood up to go. "I will endeavor to convince the Ambassador of my feelings..."

"Illya," Waverly said after he snapped a switch on his panel and put his pipe down. "Watch yourself. The CIA and FBI have been on high alert with the Soviet Union and will notice your visit today I fear."

"Thank you," Illya said in puzzlement as to why he shut off the tape recorder. "I had a feeling to expect that I would be a person of interest to them once again."

"Don't take what I've told you too lightly." The older man frowned. "I have watched you grow from a mere boy to the strong dependable person you are today. It's time for you to think of your own wellbeing and not the good of the Command."

"I don't know if I can do that," Illya truthfully said in a rush. "I have never really thought in terms of wanting things for just myself or a small family."

"You have someone who needs you. Don't let her push you away or it will end badly." Waverly said softly. "Like you, she can only see a window out, but not the mirror that reflects nothing back. You deserve the same life as those you've saved."

"Why tell me this now?" Illya eyed the man suspiciously, who for years told him how expendable he and Napoleon were and needed to their jobs.

"Because, I want you to think of your options when the time comes, not just be expected to do just as you're told and not dictated by your breeding and training. I'll say no more and deny that we've had this conversation."

With that last comment, Waverly clicked the switch back on and took a big draw on his pipe as he looked at the stunned agent.

"Now go," the Section One leader growled extra loudly. "You have your orders. Be off with you and send Mr. Solo back here. I need to end this New Year's Eve affair once and for all. I've lost a good agent in Section Two and must find a replacement as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir," Illya said and turned to leave Waverly's office through the automatic door; leaving the area to seek solitude and time to think in his own small office just outside his lab.

MFU/MFU

(Months later)

"Lexi, they're back," George Thompson said in a rush as he opened the door the physical therapy gym with a medical bag in his hand. "Napoleon's already in surgery and Illya's been drugged to the eyeballs and isn't letting anyone touch him. It's time to get you back into your hot rod and get to work, sweetheart."

Out of breath and halfway across the parallel support bars for walking, Lexi dropped to her knees, smoothly swung under one of the bars near her wheelchair, and pulled herself to stand up long enough to drop into the seat. George helped her with putting one of feet on the foot pedal as she lifted her other more slowly and set it on the other one. He then tossed the medical bag onto her lap, grabbed the handles, and steered her out of the door.

MFU/MFU

George and Lexi made it to the secured medical treatment room to find Illya screaming Napoleon's name and wildly pacing the walls of the room trying to find a way out. His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles from lack of sleep. A sweat and blood smeared shirt stuck to his back and his body showed signs of a savage beating hidden just under the transparent material. Nasty red marks ringed around his bare wrists and ankles.

They watched him roam the locked room like a caged animal for a while to see his reactions and symptoms carefully.

"What do you know, Mark?" George asked.

"April and I found both of them in a warehouse. Both of them were beaten and tied up. Napoleon was unconscious and had a broken leg bone, that's why he's in surgery." Mark filled them in as they continued to observe the irate agent through the glass. "The moment a Section Three agent released Illya's bonds, he came out swinging. We had to dart him twice before he dropped. He woke up here just a few minutes ago."

"Blood draw," Lexi asked, scrutinizing Illya's pinpoint eyes that were staring right at her through the two-way mirror.

"Done on the copter ride here, luv," Mark said with a bright smile while looking down at her.

"What do you think?" George contemplated seriously with his arms crossed around his chest and one of his hands over his mouth. "Alkaline or acid base?"

"Alk…aline," Lexi said with a grimace, deep in thought with a small jerk of her head. She rubbed her short hair with the palm of her hand. It was wet with sweat that made her cold, but it was his vacant, lost look that made her shiver. "Can…try person…recognition?"

"Mark?" George turned to Mark for permission.

"I don't know, mates," Mark shook his head with concern. "The last person who was within striking distance got a black eye and chipped tooth."

Lexi rolled her eyes up at Mark and watched George turn his back to Mark smirking. "Won't hurt…me."

"Then, I'll be watching with a dart gun in hand." Mark waved for the Section Three agent to let Lexi into the room.

George wheeled her into room. While staring intently at who came into the room with conflicting, midnight blues eyes, Illya had stopped his pacing and stood ram-rod straight.

"Oh, hey, Illya," George said nonchalantly, let go of the wheelchair grips, and gave Lexi's shoulder a squeeze before he left the room. "Try to play nice."

Confused and disoriented, Illya stared at the person sitting in the modified wheelchair that he helped designed. Her short, raven colored hair was spiky with drying sweat; her magnetic. Deep blue eyes calmly looked at him over the rims of her crazy granny glasses with her soft, full lips set in a line of determination. She was wearing bright pink sweats.

"Pink!" Illya said with a jolt as he garbled a response in their shared language. "That's a horrible color on you and you know it, Lexi."

"George…took my…grey sweats…left me…these…bastard!" Lexi stuttered in exasperation. "You know me?"

"I have to find Napoleon," Illya repeated, taking a step forward and not giving into her right away. He didn't know if he could believe that she was real or not with all the dreams and thoughts that were racing around his head.

"Can't…surgery…broken leg. Remember things?" Lexi persisted as she continued to lock eyes with him.

"I can't tell what's real or not until I see him…" he held his aching head in his hands and began to tremble.

Lexi slowly nodded and put her hand on each of the armrests of the wheelchair and slowly started to push herself up to stand in front of Illya and stopped. He was still watching her every move from the corner of his eye, ready to strike.

Swaying, Lexi leaned forward just enough to lose her balance and suddenly started to fall while trying to take a step. Instantaneously, without thinking, Illya jumped to her side to catch her by the waist and support her. Holding her gently, he buried his head into her shoulder and inhaled her familiar scent. A sharp bite on his deltoid caught him by surprise as he felt the warm rush of a drug race up to his shoulder and into his pounding heart.

"George told you to play nice." Illya said softly in her ear as some of the fog swirling in his mind began to lift slightly.

"No," she whispered back, pulling the syringe out and throwing it on the floor before wrapping her arms around his neck while trying to be mindful of his injuries. Gracefully pulling out another syringe from her waistband, she continued on. "He told you…not me."

"Napoleon's in worse shape…" Illya began again; falling back into the tide of confusion that kept hitting him.

This mantra of "getting out and back home no matter what" was drilled into all Section Two agents to get them to push forward. For Illya, getting his partner out as well was second on this list despite what Waverly and UNCLE tried to impress upon him.

"Yes," Lexi agreed with the trembling agent. Looking at her watch and giving a nod to the two-way mirror, she expertly popped the cap off the second hypo in her hand and plunged it into his other upper arm.

" Ah…" Illya moaned in pain as this antidote was like ice water running through his finger tips first and then back up his arm. "How many more of those do you have to give me?"

"One…more," Lexi pulled back enough from the exhausted man to indicate that he should let her go and help her back into the wheelchair.

Illya lowered her down gently as the antidotes started to take their full effects. The pain from his injuries and a tickle of nausea brought him to kneel heavily on the ground next to Lexi's wheelchair.

Leaning his upper body across the arm rests; Illya took an agonizing breath in and forcibly let it out. Lexi absently stroked his hair for a moment and then leaned over to place her chin on his head.

"It's…long…four months…since," Lexi's rough voice stuttered out. He winced at the sound; remembering what it sounded like before. He only nodded to her as he listened. "I…see how hard…you care…UNCLE…Nappy…me. Not good…year…you..so far. Better…promise."

The last hypo she gave Illya was a sedative. Without time to react, Lexi pulled the cap off, jabbed the needle into his bent thigh, and drained the medicine. Wasted from the drop in his body's adrenaline levels, the only reaction he gave her was a small grimace that fleetingly crossed his lips.

While they waited for the sedative to take effect, Lexi picked up one of Illya's hands and held it in hers, playing with his fingers. She then gently guided his hand to press it up against her lower abdomen.

With an expression of surprise mixed with fear and happiness, Illya looked up at her as she gave him the smallest nod while the rest of her face remained passive.

Illya licked his dry lips, said a few hushed words to her in their language which he was teaching her to speak again, and then pushed himself away from her wheelchair to lay his tired body on the floor. The trauma from his mission and the sedative were finally overtaking him. Now he was ready to get some much needed rest. It was going to be a long year now that after several months of arguing with the Soviet Ambassador, he had finally agreed to let Illya stay undisturbed in UNCLE.


End file.
